"Now," she said, rising cheerfully, "we must make up some sort of
a nest for the little creature. Let me see, the bolster and pillows
from our bed, with a thick blanket folded under them, and four chairs
for a bedstead; that will do very nicely. You remember, Chester, when
our Isabel was ill, she fancied that sort of bed before anything.
Would you like to sleep that way, my dear?"

"I don't know, ma'am; I ain't used to sleeping in a bed, lately,"
faltered the little girl, bewildered by all the gentle kindness that
she was receiving.

"Not used to sleeping in a bed!" cried Mrs. Chester, looking at her
husband; "just fancy our Isabel saying that, Chester."

And with fresh tears in her eyes the gentle housewife proceeded to
make up the temporary couch, which she had so ingeniously contrived
for her little beggar-guest. She entered her bed-room for the pillows.
The light in her hand shed its beams full upon a little girl, whose
long raven curls lay in masses over the pillow, and down upon her
night-dress, till they were lost among the bed-clothes. The child
might be ten years of age, and nothing more beautiful could well be
imagined than the sweet and oval cast of her countenance. Color soft
and rich as the downy side of a peach, bloomed upon her cheek, which
rested against the palm of one plump little hand. Her chin was
dimpled, and around her pretty mouth lay a soft smile that just parted
its redness, as the too ardent sunbeam cleaves open a cherry.

"Isabel, bless the darling," murmured Mrs. Chester, as she bent over
her child, passing one hand under her beautiful head very carefully,
that her fingers might not get entangled in those rich tresses and