Amy--No, I won't ask any more favors; Mamma says we must be thankful for all we get, so let us sing a hymn of thanks. Here Papa came upstairs calling for his babies. Mrs. Allen not wishing to disturb the children, beckoned him into her room, hoping he would listen to the innocent prattle of his little ones. All unconscious of being observed, the children continued to entertain their heavenly guests. Mr. Allen not being a Catholic, was more shocked than edified at what he thought the hallucination of the children, and spoke rather sternly to his wife. "All this nonsense comes from your constant talk on subjects beyond the comprehension of children. Amy is an emotional child; she will become a dreamer, a spiritualist; it will affect her nervous system and you will have yourself to blame. "As for Bolax, I have no fear for him. He'll never be too pious. I'm willing to----" Here they were startled by a most unearthly yell, and Master Bo rushed into the room, saying that Amy would not let him play with her. "Why won't she?" asked Papa. "Oh, because I upset St. Joseph; I wanted to take the chairs for a train of cars." Papa broke into a fit of laughter, and said: "Bo, Bo, you're the funniest youngster I ever heard of." Poor Little Amy came into the room, looking as if ready to cry, telling her mother she would never again have that boy when her company came. "Just think, dear Ma, Bo said he liked monkeys better than angels." The serious face of the little girl caused her mother to wonder if the child really saw the holy spirits. Mrs. Allen consoled her little daughter, telling her Bo would be more thoughtful and better behaved when he should be a few years older. "Come now," said she, "we will go to see poor little Tommie Hoden. I am sure from the appearance of the boy, the family must be in very great distress." It was a beautiful day. The hyacinths were in bloom, and there were daffodils, tulips, and forget-me-nots, almost ready to open; the cherry trees were white with blossoms, and the apple trees covered with buds. The glad beautiful spring had fully come with its lovely treasures and everything seemed delighting in the sweet air and sunshine. Miss Beldon, a neighbor, was digging her flower-beds, and asked where they were going. "I want to visit that poor little fellow, Tommy Hoden, who comes here so often," said Mrs. Allen. "You're not going to Hoden's," cried Miss Beldon; "why the father is an awful man!" "So much the more need of helping him, and that poor neglected boy of his," answered Mrs. Allen. "Can you tell me exactly where they live?" "Yes, in a horrid old hut, near Duff Mills. You can't miss it, for it is the meanest of all those tumble-down shanties. I do wish you wouldn't go, it won't do any good." "Our Lord will take care of that," said Mrs. Allen. "I am only going to do the part of the work He assigns me, and take food to the hungry."