Just two weeks after Percy and Fifee had their sorrowful talk, they were going by a door-way in search of work, when a voice said,

'There's my lovely vision! Come here, child; is this your brother ?'

The young artist took off the hat, which Fifee kept in good order by careful brushing, and displayed to the gentleman with him the curling mass of hair which had attracted him.

Both men looked at each other and the child with admiration.. 'A perfect gem,' said the artist enthusiastically.

up now and let me take your picture ?'

Will you come

'If Percy will,' answered Fifee, looking at her brother.

'How much will you pay her ?' asked the boy, with a sense of their need upon him.

'Oh! I shall give her fifty cents to-day, and if she comes again, perhaps more.'

'We will go, Fifee,' said the boy, resolutely. And they followed the artist upstairs.

The artist began to work, and the boy looked with eager eyes at the pictures on the wall of the studio, while his sister sat with averted face as the artist had placed her.

'Is that a copy of' Guido's Victory of Sampson ?" asked the boy of the artist's friend.

Both gentlemen started. A beggar boy talking of art!

'What do you know of Guido ?'

'My mother told me, sir. I was born in Italy.'

'Indeed! Was the sister born there too ?'

'No, sir; she was born when they were coming home. Fifee is an ocean bird, mamma said.'

'And where does mamma live, my young gentleman ?'

Percy turned on him a look of reproach, and replied,

'With God, sir.'

The studio was very still for a few moments; the gentlemen knew at once that an uncommon history lay unwritten here, and they determined to study it. While they were speaking, a sad, dreamy look rested on the face of Fifee; that indescribable look one so often sees on the face of the motherless, a yearning wistfulness, that cuts straight to the heart. The artist seized upon it as an inspiration, and worked on eagerly, while the boy continued his investigation of the pictures.

'My little man,' asked the gentleman, kindly, have you a father ?' "Yes sir,' was the short, sharp reply.

It hurt Percy to answer questions about him. The gentleman smiled, for the boy's pride pleased him, and without further questioning he pointed out the various pictures and their merits. That,' said the boy, 'is an engraving of Raphael's Spolalizio; mamma had one.' 'I should like to have known your mother, young man; you and I must be good friends, for I too have lived in Italy.'

'And was you happy there ?'

'Very, very happy,' said the gentleman, with a sigh. Percy forgot his coldness at once.

'We were so happy,' he said. 'Mamma was sick then, and, oh, she was so beautiful, sir!'

'I do not doubt it,' said his new friend; and if you · me to your father, perhaps we can talk over Italy.'

will introduce

Fifee looked up in alarm. He hates strangers, sir; we had rather not.'

'Very well,' said the gentleman; 'I will not disturb him; but you must come to my cousin's studio often and we will talk here.'

The sitting was over at last, and Fifee held in her hand a crisp fifty cent piece.

As they left the room Percy's friend handed him a bill, which the boy politely refused. I would like to earn it, sir; we need it, but I promised my mother that I would never spend a cent which I had not honestly earned.

'Oho! well, well! I like your spirit in one sense, and do not in another; why, this money would buy you a new pair of shoes, my boy.'

'Yes, sir; and I will earn it, if you will let me.'

The gentleman thought a moment, and said, 'Wait here until I

return.'

He came back presently, with a small portfolio, filled with chromos and engravings.

'There my boy,' said he, you may sell these for me; the large ones for one dollar, the small for twenty-five cents. I will allow you so much for your commission, but you had better begin business by being in debt to me for a suit of clothes.'

'It would be a sorry beginning, sir. I would rather go in rags until I earn better.'

'Don't demoralize the boy,' said the artist, laughing; 'now, I could not refuse such a tempting offer.'

The brother and sister went out, and the little dealer in pictures began to prosper.

On the morning when our story opens he had decided to visit some factory boarding-houses before the operatives left for their work, it being his only chance of seeing them. His success was cheering; as he said to Fifee, he had sold heaps of them, and cautiously asked, 'Where is father ?'

The children had been learning one of the hard lessons this life teaches us-not to trust our elders in all things. Percy knew, and Fifee agreed with him, that the moment their drunken father found them possessed of any money he would demand it, and they might starve or beg.

It was no strange thing for this man to leave them for weeks together, while he lived in miserable places with companions like himself. Neglected, unloved, hungry, and comfortless, the children lived on, with the memory of their dead mother to keep them in the right way. Since her death they had moved from one place to another, to please their father, or because the rent was unpaid. He had disposed of every article of furniture, and all of his once wealthy wife's jewellery, except a few costly trifles which she had herself left in a sealed packet, as a sacred legacy to the little daughter.

The artist and his friend learned the whole story, after tracing the family back to their home in Italy.

A young American girl, the daughter of an officer, was left an orphan in Italy; from her mother's relatives she possessed a large fortune, and her great beauty, combined with her wealth, made her the prey of fortune-hunters. One of these she married-an unprincipled gambler, who was at last persuaded to take her to America, where the public school system was so admirable that she considered the education of her children a sure thing, even if the fortune she inherited should be squandered.

One calamity followed another, and at last the heart-broken woman left all the sorrows of her life behind her when her fourth child was born. Four little children without a mother and a drunken father; and, worse than all, a cruel, unkind, selfish father, for drink makes demons of once kind men.

She left her children a legacy of high principle; to her daughter the heavy cross of caring for all the others, especially the helpless baby of a few weeks.

Poor Fifee! she found herself asking very often, 'Why couldn't God have left us mother ?'

The baby was sickly and fretful, and more than once the boy and girl had wondered why the little helpless creature was left, and the gentle mother taken. They could not see how the way was openin for their little feet to tread in broad paths; they could not feel the Father's arm always about them, and know that the sunshine i sweeter and softer after a storm. Dear little Fifee and Percy! it was a hard way, but it was God's way, after all.

'In the first place,' said Fifee, after the funeral was over, 'you and I will be the father and mother now, Percy, and you must do all you can to earn money, and I will try to sew and cook for us all.'

Such a funny little father and mother as they were! So fond a they grew of the baby, and poor little 'Two,' who often cried for mamma! Two christened herself, the little rogue! She had caught a sound of figures when the brother and sister were saying lessons to mamma, and two had struck her fancy, probably from its resemblance to her mother's pet name of 'Loo;' at all events, her own name of Mary was never heard. A queer little girl was Two; not as beautiful, if you cared for expression, as her sister, but possessed of a sort of cherub-like sweetness.

The baby had never been named; but one day when the sun shone warm, Fifee gave Two a seat on the door-step, and put the baby in her arms, to the great delight of the little nurse.

By-and-bye, Fifee heard voices under the window, and on looking out, two nice old ladies were talking to her children, as Fifee called them, and one of them repeated the question:

6 Yes, you said your name was Two, but what is the baby's ?' Now the little lady had never failed to have a ready answer for every one; so she looked up, with a little fun dancing in her eye and said

'I

guess it's Twice Two. He's another like me, you know.' Fifee told Percy of it, and a right merry laugh they had over 'Twice Two.'

Now these same kind ladies made a call near by, and the lady was questioned about the little people in the drab tenement house.

'The girl is a perfect woman,' was the answer to her inquiries. 'She makes, and mends, and cooks, when they have anything to cook; and they must belong to some good family, they are so polite. I spoke to the officers of our Society about them, and they would

take the two little ones in the Home, but would you think it, that girl nearly broke her heart over it. 'Please don't take Two and the baby, madame. I couldn't let them go. I promised her to keep them together, and with Percy and me, and we can do it somehow,' she said. And those two children study French and German all by themselves, and my neighbour, Mrs. Caxton, sends them books from her library.'

Now the two old ladies were deeply interested, and the very morning after Percy had gone home starved,' they called upon the children, and found Percy dressing little Two, while Fifee washed the baby. They would take Two, they said, and adopt her, and the Home was the proper place for the baby.

'I would like very much to have you come and see me,' said Fifee. 'You are very kind; but these are my children, and I must keep them and care for them.'

'But, my dear, you are only fourteen. How can you bring up these children in the right way?'

'My mother told me how,' said Fifee; and she said God would take care of us all.'

While they were talking, the artist's cousin walked in, much to the surprise of the children, and the delight of the ladies, who knew him.

'Well, my little merchant,' said he, ' are we making money?'

'Doing pretty well, sir,' answered the boy, as he fastened the last button in little Two's dress.

'If you are looking after these children, Mr. Darmstadt, it is of no use for us to think they need our care; but I wish you could persuade this girl to let us adopt the little one. Charlotte and I have set our hearts on it.'

Fred Darmstadt looked into the pleasing eyes of Fifee and said quietly,―

'Next to the mother they lost, she is the best one to care for them ; but we must look after her a little, and not let her grow old too fast.'

The old ladies were very ready to look after her, for their kind hearts took in the little children and loved them, although they were called old maids.

'Percy,' said Mr. Darmstadt, as soon as the ladies were gone, 'I have something better for you than selling prints. A friend of mine wants you in his store, where you can see and sell paintings. Pretty good wages now, and better if you deserve them.'