The children were inclined to be jealous at first, all except “Saturday Nelly,” as they called the little lame girl. She simply fell down and worshipped with Grandmother. The others—well, it seemed strange to some of them, especially the boys, to have such a fuss made over a baby. They had babies at home, that looked (they thought in their ignorance) very like this one; but no one ever called them rose-leaf princesses or lily-bell angels. To be sure, they often cried—squalled, the boys called it—and this one never seemed to, just smiled and cooed. “Why should she cry,” said Grandmother, “when she is well and happy? If she cries, children, it is our fault, and we must be whipped round the garden with bramble whips all over thorns. So dance now, and make her laugh!” Then they all would dance, and Baby Faith would leap in Grandmother’s arms, and crow, and wave her little arms. “Where did she come from?” asked a little girl. “Oh, I was just singing about that before you came,” said Grandmother. “Listen now, and you shall hear. “Down from the sky came Little White Rose; How they could spare her Nobody knows. Through the gate slipping, Down the air tripping, What she could tell us, If she but chose! Down to the earth came Little White Rose, Sadly the gold gates After her close; Left them all sighing, Sobbing and crying; Will they come after her, Do you suppose?” “Will who come?” asked Benny Mack. “Angels!” said Grandmother. “Troops of them, all shining with great white wings spread, and white lily-dresses; look up there, Benny! what do you see in the blue?” “Clouds!” said Benny. “Yes,” said Grandmother. “But I see something else, Benny; a white-lily lady sitting in a cloudy chair. Don’t you see her, Nelly? Stay up there, lily-lady; don’t come down here! Baby Faith is very well, you cannot have her back.” “Do you know, children,” she said, lowering her voice, “do you know all the things that happened the day Baby came? You don’t? come and sit round here, all of you! Nelly-Nell, you shall—oh, Nelly, you are so good and dear and patient, you shall hold her a little, while I tell. Listen now! “The lily-bells rang at the sight of her, The sunflower turned to the light of her, The little black mole Crept out of his hole, Just to peep at the darling delight of her. “The daisies all danced ’neath the feet of her, The roses turned faint at the sweet of her; The firefly’s spark Came and lit up the dark, Just to show us the picture complete of her!” Two years; two golden, beautiful, heavenly years. Then—it will not be easy to tell this part, yet it must be told.