"Because she looks in her sleep like the picture which I have seen of Heaven, where beautiful, curly-headed children just like her, lie dreaming on the clouds." "Then you think she is like those little angels?" said Mrs. Chester, unable to suppress a feeling of maternal pride, and smiling through her tears as she gazed on her daughter's beauty. "I never saw an ugly little girl in those pictures in my whole life, and I have looked for one a great many times," said the child, sadly. "Yes, but these pictures are only according to the artist's fancy--they are not the real Heaven." "I know; but then those who make these pictures do not so much as fancy a little girl like--like me, among the angels." "But I can fancy them there," said Mrs. Chester, carried away by the strange language of the child--"remember, little girl, that it is our souls--the spirit that makes us love and think--which God takes home to Heaven." "I know," said the little girl, shaking her head with a mournful smile, "but she would not like to leave all those curls and that red upon her mouth behind her, would she?" Mrs. Chester shook her head and tried to smile; the child puzzled her with these singular questions. "And I--I should not like either, to leave my body behind!" "Indeed--why not, little girl?" said Mrs. Chester, amazed. "Oh, we have suffered so much together, my soul and this poor body!" replied the child, sadly. "This is all very strange and very mournful," murmured Mrs. Chester, deeply moved. But she checked herself, and drawing the child toward her, began to untie her dress. A faint exclamation of surprise and pity broke from her lips as she loosened the garment and observed that it was the only one which the little creature had on. "Oh, this _is_ destitution," she said, covering her eyes with one hand as little Mary crouched down and put on the nightdress. "What if she, my own child, were left thus,"--and dashing aside her tears, Mrs. Chester went to the bed and covered the little Isabel with kisses. The strange child stood by in her long night-gown. A smile of singular pleasure lay about her mouth as she attempted with her little pale hands to arrange the plaited ruffles around her neck and bosom. Drawing close to Mrs. Chester, she took hold of her dress, and looked earnestly in her face. Mrs. Chester turned away her head; her lips were yet tremulous with the caresses which she had bestowed upon her child; and it seemed as if those large eyes reproached her. "You are cold," she said, looking down upon the child. "No, ma'am." "Well, what is it you want--the milk I promised you?" "No, not that. I will give up the milk, if you will only--only"-- "Only what, child?" "If you will only kiss my forehead just once as you kissed hers," answered the child. And after one yearning look, her head drooped upon her bosom. She seemed completely overpowered by her own boldness.