Suddenly the visiting neighbor laid a finger softly under her chin and tilted up her little face towards the light.

Then she said with that unconscious poetry of bereavement which sees a likeness in all fair things of earth to the face of the lost treasure, "I do believe she looks like my first little girl that died." After the visiting woman had gone, Fanny and Eva calling after her to come again, they looked at each other, then at Ellen.

"That little girl that died favored the Stebbinses, and was dark as an Injun," said Fanny, "no more like Ellen--" "That's so," acquiesced Eva; "I remember that young one.

Lookin' like Ellen--I'd like to see the child that did look like her; there ain't none round these parts.

I wish you could have seen folks stare at her when I took her down street yesterday.