The table had been laid with the brightness characteristic of all well-laid tea-tables. Yet never before had I looked forward with such enjoyment to a meal. The room was empty when we entered, so Sunbeam took the opportunity to explain a few facts. “That is quite extra,” she said, pointing with a decided finger to a salad. “And so is that,” and she next indicated a fine salmon. “And this cake is just the same as we have on birthdays—only it’s no one’s birthday to-day, unless you’d like to call it yours.” I assented, and looking round saw on a plate a small bun which, to do it justice, had not quite the elegance which characterised the other eatables. I noticed that Sunbeam’s eyes dwelt lovingly in that direction. “I made that,” she explained. “It’s quite fresh to-day. I’ve made one ever so long, hoping father would come home. He doesn’t know I can bake yet, we’ve kept it quite a secret.” “Is this a special treat for him then?” I asked, scarcely able to keep back a smile. “Yes,” she answered, nodding eagerly, and then she went and sat beside the dog on the floor. “This is father’s dog,” said she. “Sometimes it goes away with him. It is very faithful, and once it got caught in a trap and was stolen. But after a while it got away and came back again. It was so weak that it could scarcely crawl to the outer gates, and then it fell down, for it couldn’t come any farther by itself.” “Who had stolen it?” I inquired. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t quite understand. They must have been very ignorant, mustn’t they?” “Why?” “Well, you see, when you steal it means you take something that doesn’t belong to you by mistake.” “Oh,” said I, and waited for further instruction. “Yes, it means you don’t know what you’re doing.” “Ah!” “If you only go on thinking, and rub your eyes a bit now and again to make more sure, you’ll find out.” “But,” I suggested, filled with a very laudable desire to learn further, “you might take something that belonged to someone else knowingly.” She looked up at me, and presently shook her head seriously. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t.” “But why?” “Well, how could you? Wouldn’t you feel queer inside?” “I might not. Would you?” “Of course. Why, at that rate we should be no better than the poor people living on earth, who are for the most part all born blind.” She jumped up and came back to me, and those pure eyes of hers were fixed longingly on mine. “I should love to go to earth and kiss their eyes all open,” she cried. “And so would Moonbeam too. But we’re too young yet—far too young. Sometimes, but only just sometimes, mother has gone, and then she kisses them, and then they hear the angels sing, and see the lights of heaven. Mother kissed you before she went away, and it is that which made you begin to get better again.”