'It is true, my dear. A fairy in a cotton-print dress came to her side, and with a sweet word and a sweeter look put into her hand a talisman--call it a stone, my dear, if you will--a common, almost valueless piece of stone; and the touch of the pretty little fairy fingers to the poor woman's hand was like the touch of Moses's rod to the rock, when the waters came forth for the famished people. And she prayed God to forgive her for doubting His goodness, and the goodness of those whom He made in the image of Himself. Then, as she looked at the common piece of stone which the fairy had given to her, she saw in it the face of an angel, and she kissed it again and again, as I do this.' After a little while my mother wrapped the halfpenny in a piece of paper, and put it by, saying she hoped she would never be compelled to spend it. During the whole of the following week my mother was unsuccessful in obtaining work. It was not from want of perseverance that she did not succeed, for she came home every day weary and footsore. 'The sewing-machines are keeping many poor women out of work,' she said. 'Then they are bad things,' I exclaimed; 'I wish they were all burnt!' 'No, my dear; they are good things; they are blessings to many poor creatures. Why, Chris, if I had one, we should be quite rich!' But she did not have one, and her needles were at a discount, so far as earning bread for us was concerned. On the Saturday she went out again early, and did not come home until late at night. Good fortune had again attended her, and she brought home a little money. 'Have you seen the fairy in the cotton-print dress?' I asked gaily. My mother nodded sorrowfully. Saturday's a lucky day, mother,' I said, rubbing my hands. 'Yes, my child,' she answered, with a heavy sigh. She added another halfpenny to the one she had kissed and put by last week, and we went out again to make our purchases. Another week followed, and another, with similar results and similar incidents. Then my mother fell sick, and could not, although she tried, keep the knowledge of her weakness from me; a sorrow of which I was not a sharer was preying on her heart. I did not know of it; but I saw that my mother was growing even paler and thinner, and often, when she did not think I was observing her, I saw the tears roll down her cheek, and her lips quiver piteously. Friday night found us with a cupboard nearly empty, and with but one halfpenny in our treasury--the first battered and bruised halfpenny, which my mother hoped she would never be compelled to spend. Those she had added to it had gone during the week. She looked at it wistfully: 'Must we spend it, Chris?' 'Is the angel's face there?' I asked. 'Yes, I see it.' And she kissed the battered coin again. 'Then we must keep it,' I said stoutly.