landlady to herself.

"Miss Sophie, well, po' soul, not ver' much Chris'mas for her.
Mais, I'll jus' call him in fo' to spen' the day with me. Eet'll
cheer her a bit."

It was so clean and orderly within the poor little room. Not a
speck of dust or a litter of any kind on the quaint little
old-time high bureau, unless you might except a sheet of paper
lying loose with something written on it. Titiche had evidently
inherited his prying propensities, for the landlady turned it
over and read,--

LOUIS,--Here is the ring. I return it to you. I heard you
needed it. I hope it comes not too late. SOPHIE.


"The ring, where?" muttered the landlady. There it was, clasped
between her fingers on her bosom,--a bosom white and cold, under
a cold happy face. Christmas had indeed dawned for Miss Sophie.





SISTER JOSEPHA

Sister Josepha told her beads mechanically, her fingers numb with
the accustomed exercise. The little organ creaked a dismal "O
Salutaris," and she still knelt on the floor, her white-bonneted