"I sat down, and the child climbed upon my knee. Her mother's eyes were closed, and her hands were clasped together as if in prayer. Unaffrighted by my black looks, the little one threw her arms around my neck, and pressed her lips to my cheek. 'Will you be my papa?' said she. 'I will love you so dearly! You are like papa. He was very good. Are _you_ good, too?' My only answer was to unclasp her arms somewhat roughly from my neck, and set her down upon the floor. She cast upon me a glance of mingled surprise, disappointment, and fear, and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. Her silent sorrow worked the miracle that her pretty, fond prattle had failed to effect. As by an enchanter's wand, the ugliness of my character, the utter brutality of my conduct was revealed to me in that moment. I shuddered in horror and self-disgust, and yielded at once to my good angel. I lifted the disconsolate little maiden into my arms, and, laying my hand upon her head, said: 'Yes, my child, I promise to be a father to you; you shall be my dear little daughter, and I will love and take care of you always.' [Illustration: "I lifted the little maiden into my arms."] "How happy this promise made my sister-in-law words fail me to describe. Her joyful excitement alarmed both the physician and myself. Joy, however, seldom kills. 'Brother! brother!' she murmured; 'how my thoughts have wronged you! Forgive me!' Her gratitude stung my newly-awakened conscience more sharply than any reproach could have done. I hastened to change the subject to that of the sick woman's removal to a better dwelling. The doctor, with ready kindness, undertook the task of house-hunting, for which I, a stranger to the place, was not so well qualified. "He found for us a delightful cottage in the neighbourhood of Marseilles. There we three--my sister-in-law, my niece, and myself--lived for three months. At the end of that time the mother passed peacefully away, leaving her child to my care, with full confidence in my affection. Marie has been with me ever since. Her joys have been my joys, her life has been my life. Do I not owe her much? That tear of hers--a precious pearl gathered by my heart--has been to it what the dewdrop of morn is to the unopened flower--expanding it for the entire day of its existence!" _The Queer Side of Things._ THE DWINDLING HOUR. A STORY OF IMPRESSION AND CONVICTION; BEING, POSSIBLY, A TRUE WORD SPOKEN IN JEST. I. [Illustration] "In an hour," sang the minstrel to his harp, whose frame was the curved black horn of a deer--"in an hour thy forefather strode from this spot whereon we sit to the summit of yon blue hill; and there, as the sinking sun would bend to caress his feet (as grovels a vanquished foe), he would touch its face with his hand in token of friendliness. 'Twixt dawning of day and noon would thy great forefather slay three hundred red-eyed wolves--one hundred shuffling bears!