The mother swallowed hard, as though her throat hurt her, and she became deadly pale. “Oh, mother!” said the child, “the Bishop has made me feel so happy—and even this old garret looks better than it did, because I am so happy.” The mother said: “I feel peaceful and happy too while I listen to you. You make my thoughts go back to when I was a little girl. I remember a hymn I used to sing in Sunday-school.” And in a broken way, gasping for breath, she repeated the last two lines: “Cover my—defenceless head With the shadow—of—Thy wing.” She leaned back, raising her eyes, as though she could see the angels looking down upon her, though to the outward eye only the rough, weather-stained rafters were above her. Janet fell asleep at her mother’s feet. The woman’s head fell forward on the unfinished work. The candle burned down, and the fallen wick spluttered in the grease. Heavy steps ascended the stairs. An unsteady hand opened the door; and a large man fell heavily to the floor. It was the drunken father, returning from the saloon.... The gray streaks of early dawn came into the dingy garret, and revealed the face of the dead man. A few hours later the body was removed. The two dollars the Bishop had given Janet was paid out for back rent, so the poor woman and her children were allowed to stay in the wretched room a little longer. Janet took her mother’s work back to the shop, which was some distance away. She trudged through the snow, cold, wet, and hungry. When she returned late in the afternoon, climbed the rickety stairs, and entered the room, she stood speechless in the middle of the floor. The sun was shining through the broken panes of the one window in the garret, and its rays fell like a shower of gold all over the child as she stood there, crowning her head as with a halo. But she heeded not its beauty. She stood there, struck dumb with astonishment. There was absolutely nothing and no one in the room but herself! Father, mother, children, mattress, straw—all gone—the room utterly empty! She knew not how long she had stood there, speechless in her misery, when she heard steps ascending the stairs. Some one fumbled in the dark hall for the latch, and finally opened the door. Two burly men entered, and asked Janet who she was. From them she learned that the people who had lived there were gone, that they had the room to rent, and would take the key at six o’clock, by which time she must be gone. When they went out, she did not move from the sunshine. A child of the slums, she was used to rough men and women, and was not afraid of them. But she was stunned with this new trouble—with her absolute loneliness. Where were her people? What did it all mean? Where should she go to find them? Light steps came swiftly up the stairs, and after a gentle knock the door was opened. It was Roy who stepped into the spot of fading sunshine beside her. “Oh, Janet!” said he.