a tone of joy and triumph. When, just as he
spoke, her foot slipped, and the child fell
from her arms.

Ange gave a fearful shriek. The child was
almost under a horse's feet. Another instant,
and his new found sister would be dead
before his eyes.

"Thank God—thank God, he has saved
her!"

Without thinking in the least of himself—
whether of the danger he ran, or of how
weak and powerless a little fellow he was—
Ange dashed forward. Another second, and
they would both have been trodden down;
but he had seized the happy moment. The
horse, frightened, reared; and in that moment
Ange seized the affrighted little one from the
ground, and now she was safely nestling in
his arms.

CHAPTER III.

ANGE placed the little one gently on the
ground by the fountain, and knelt down by
the mother. The little girl cried bitterly,
for she thought her mother was dead; and
Ange tried to comfort her, though in his own
heart he thought so too. But Ange sprinkled
water on the mother's face, and little
Marguerite chafed her hands; and then there
came a faint sigh, and Ange's heart beat
for joy, and little Marguerite kissed her
mother's face and hands in ecstasy, and
bathed her in her tears.

"Where is your home?" said Ange.

"We have no home," said Marguerite,
"since my father died; and we have come a
long, long way, and I am so hungry; and
mother says she's no more bread to give me."
And little Marguerite cried again.

This made Ange very miserable. At first
he thought he would run home, but then he
recollected that Father Mathurin would be
in the cathedral, and certainly Jeannette
would give him nothing. Then he thought
he would go to a baker's shop, and beg some
bread. Marguerite's mother tried to rise,
but she could not; her strength was
exhausted, and she sank back again. Still
Ange and Marguerite managed to rest her
more comfortably against the stone coping of
the fountain; and then Ange began to think
again what he should do. To assist him in
thinking, he put his hands in his pockets;
and there—oh joy!—lay the bright silver
piece Father Mathurin had given him that
morning to buy his cap, and which Ange—
utterly unused as he was to have money—
had totally forgotten.

How supremely happy little Ange felt now,
and how skilfully he avoided the carriages
and carts; and how lightly and quickly he
flew to neighbour Jacques, who kept a baker's
shop.

"Will this buy a loaf, neighbour Jacques?"
asked Ange, putting down the silver coin.

Jacques gave him the loaf, and off bounded
Ange, never heeding or hearing who cried
out as loud as he could, "Stop, stop, my little
man; thou hast given me too much."

Ange gave some to Madelaine and some to
Marguerite; and then he sat and looked at
them; and he could not help saying to
himself, " Oh how happy I am! " And then
he thought of Him who had heard his prayer,
and given him his heart's desire; and Ange
prayed a prayer of thankfulness, and tears
of joy rolled down his cheeks, for his heart
was very full. Now, it happened that while
Ange was sitting there, enjoying the luxury
of a good action, and Madelaine and
Marguerite were eating their bread, Dame
Ponsard passed with her fair young daughter, both
very gaily attired, having come from the fair.

Dame Ponsard was the hostess of the Bell,
and she was a kind motherly sort of woman,
and knew Ange very well; for many a sou
she had given him to run messages for her,
and sweetmeats and apples, and many things
she thought likely to please a little boy. So,
when she saw Ange sitting by the fountain,
she stopped.

"Why, Ange, how is it that thou art not
at church? Father Mathurin will reprove
thee. Why dost thou dawdle here—hadst
thou not all day to play?"

Madelaine answered for him. She told how
he had saved her child, and how she was
fainting from want, and he had brought her
bread to eat; and then she clasped Ange to her
heart, and blessed him. And Dame Ponsard's
daughter took Ange's little hand, and pressed
it, and said, "Dear Ange!" And Ange
blushed very red with so much praise, and
wondered why they should praise him so
much, when he had only done what had made
him so very, very happy.

"Where is thy husband? " said Dame
Ponsard to Madelaine.

"My husband was a soldier, and was killed
a month ago in the war," answered poor
Madelaine. And then she turned so very,
very pale, Ange thought she was going to
faint again. And the wind blew cold, for the
sun was set; and Dame Ponsard wrapped
her cloak closer round her, and then she
said—

"Where dost thou sleep this night?"

"God only knows," answered Madelaine,
"for I have no money—no friends."

Then Dame Ponsard paused a moment,
and she looked at Madelaine, and she looked
at Marguerite; and her daughter Blanche
saw what was passing in her mind, and she
said, "Do, dear mother." And Dame
Ponsard did not want much pressing, for her
own heart had spoken warmly enough in
Madelaine's behalf. So she turned to poor
Madelaine, and said, "Come, thou shalt sleep
in my house to-night." And then Blanche
took little Marguerite by the hand, all
brightly clad as she was; and Ange put his
hand in Madelaine's, and they all went to
Dame Ponsard's house.

And Dame Pousard pressed Ange to stay