Mrs.Bird's heart sank a little as she looked at the slender figure in the black dress.

There were no dimples about the sad mouth, and was it the dress, or was she not very white these latter days ?--so white that her hair encircled her face with absolute glory, and startled one with its color.
"It is a curious kind of gift," continued Mr.Bird, glancing at his morning' papers.

"She takes a long tale of Hans Andersen's, for instance, and after an hour or two, when she has his idea fully in mind, she shows me how she proposes to tell it to the younger children at the Orphan Asylum.

She clasps her hands over her knees, bends forward toward the firelight, and tells the story with such simplicity and earnestness that I am always glad she is looking the other way and cannot see the tears in my eyes.

I cried like a school-girl last night over 'The Ugly Duckling.' She has natural dramatic instinct, a great deal of facial expression, power of imitation, and an almost unerring taste in the choice of words, which is unusual in a girl so young and one who has been so imperfectly trained.