And tenderly laying his hand on Joe's head, He turned to the people and solemnly said: "We pray that the poor may be sheltered and fed, And we leave it to Heaven to furnish the bread. Ye know, while He feedeth the fowls in the air. The children of mankind He leaves to man's care;" And kissing Joe's face the preacher said then; "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven. Amen!" That day Santa Claus came to many a door He'd forgotten to call at the evening before. Was little Joe lucky? Well, now, you are right. And the wires sang merrily all the next night. ANGELA'S CHRISTMAS. BY JULIA SCHAYER. "Then it is 'yes,' father dear?" said Angela, looking across the breakfast table with a smile. It was her mother's smile, and the girl had filled her mother's vacant chair for more than a year. The eyes of the father and daughter met, and Angela knew, before a word was said, that she had conquered. "I hate to see you at your age, beginning to worry over these things," Ephraim Frazier said, regretfully. "Let the _old_ women take care of the charities, dear. You keep on dancing in the sunshine a while longer, daughter." Angela's smile grew graver, but not less sweet. "I am twenty, dear," she said. "Too old to dance _all_ the time, and I cannot help _thinking_, you know. And--it's no use, papa dear! I _must_ do something! It _is_ 'yes,' isn't it?" "You are sure you won't mind being criticised and ridiculed?" "Quite sure!" answered Angela. "And sure you won't take your failures and disappointments to heart too deeply?" "Quite sure I can bear them bravely," answered the girl. "If only one, _just one_, of those poor creatures may be helped, and lifted up, and brought out of darkness, it will be worth trying for!" "And what does Robert Johns say about it?" A glow kindled in Angela's face. "Robert is in perfect sympathy with me," she said softly. Then again, this time having risen and gone around to his side, to speak with her face against the old banker's smoothly shaven cheek, "It _is_ 'yes,' isn't it, daddy dear?" "Well, yes! Only you must go slow, dear. You are not over strong, you know." And soon it came to pass that on a vacant lot, hitherto given over to refuse heaps, haunted by stray cats, ragpickers, and vagrant children, in one of the vilest quarters of the metropolis, there sprang up, with magic swiftness, a commodious frame building, surrounded by smooth green sod, known in the lower circles as the Locust Street Home; in upper circles, laughingly denominated "Angela's Experiment."