THE

HE day had been fine. The sun arose bright and warm, and the wind went dallying about carrying little waves of perfume from the arbutus and early violets, blowing it through the open windows of the Convent, and into the faces of the little children.

Already the maple trees gave promise of blossoms. For all up and down the brown branches were little dots of scarlet, flashing gaily in the bright sunlight. The birds flitted joyously about in the soft, warm air, darting like gleams of light, through the trees and shrubs, chatting merrily to their little mates. It was a day to decoy one into the belief that spring had come. But February days are as uncertain as the capricious April. Towards evening the air Towards evening the air grew chill and the sky began to darken. At first the rain fell gently, then the wind arose and blew about the house and shook the shutters, and made moan down the chimney.

The Reverend Mother and Sister Euphrasia sat listening to the storm in the quiet of the little Convent home.

"This is a stormy ending to our beautiful day!"

"Yes, Mother."

Then a silence fell upon them. Sister Euphrasia arose and walked over to the window trying to look out into the darkness. The wind blew the frozen rain against the window panes with a sudden crash that made her turn quickly away and exclaim:

"This is a pitiless night. I hope God's poor are safely sheltered."

She had scarcely spoken when suddenly she bent her head to listen.

"I thought I heard a voice calling. Do you suppose, dear Mother, that anyone could be seeking shelter at our door? I fancied I heard-"

"The storm has unnerved you, dear child. No, you could not hear a voicecalled it ever so loudly-above the din of this awful storm. It was but the wind; besides, there is the bell."

For a while these two sat in perfect silence. At last Sister Euphrasia arose suddenly, her face was very pale, as she turned to the Reverend Mother.

"Dear Mother, permit me to go to the door. I surely hear-I feel-I seem to see some one."

"Very well, my child, go; you will feel better having assured yourself."

Sister Euphrasia hastened down the long hallway, unbarred the heavy door and stepped out into the storm. She returned bearing in her arms a little benumbed, unconscious figure, drenched with the cold rain. The Reverend Mother hurried to her. "Is he dead?" "I fear so."

How they worked over the little rigid figure to restore it to consciousness. The dear little child had almost perished in that pitiless storm, right on their own doorstep. Finally they were rewarded. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up straight. He looked about him, then into Sister Euphrasia's face, and asked in a sweet baby voice:

"Is my mamma here? I'se lost her."

The question was so unusual, and coming so direct from the baby lips, that neither the Reverend Mother nor Sister Euphrasia were able to reply. They tried to evade the question and soothed and quieted him as best they could, and gradually he fell asleep. The cruel night, however, had done its work, and for days the little child tossed and moaned, while the fever racked his body and tortured his baby brain. He would whisper in his delirium. "mamma, mamma," and stretch out the little arms, then cry out in sudden pain, "I'se lost my mamma."

Sister Euphrasia seldom left his bedside. She would caress and soothe him, and at the touch of her soft, cool hands he would sometimes smile and fall asleep. When finally he recovered and was able to play about, and the color began to glow in his cheeks, she would question him about his name, but all that she could ever persuade him to tell her

"I'se dust Baby."

So it came about that he was called by common custom and consent "Valentine." Bye and bye, when he was accustomed to his strange home, and grew in strength and courage, he would, when alone with Sister Euphrasia, prattle a good deal about himself, and by degrees it became known that his

mother had died, and the neighbors, thinking, no doubt, that he was too little to understand or to save trouble of consoling him, had told him that his mother had gone to the market. And as she failed to return to her baby, after awhile they told him that she went to the market and was lost. The little child accepted it as truth and so went about looking everywhere for the dear mamma that could not answer to his calling but was "lost."

His loyal little heart was seeking her out in the big world. For the city was a world to his baby feet and baby eyes. And so he trudged about, until his weary little feet halted at the Convent gate in the blinding storm, and his heart was throbbing with pain and terror because his mother was "lost."

It was, no doubt, mistaken kindness that suggested the cruel explanation to the baby mind; and thus it often is that childish hearts are burdened with cruel lies that rankle and torture, thereby clouding the little lives, and causing endless pain and

"What is the matter?"

11

"I do not know, I fear his throat is very bad."

The Reverend Mother spoke quicklyand in some alarm.

"I must see. You must not expose yourself unnecessarily."

This Sister was very dear to the heart of her Reverend Mother. As Sister Euphrasia lifted her white face her great eyes were full of entreaty, but her lips were silent. Both women arose and stood looking into each others' eyes. Sister Euphrasia's tall figure reached a head above her Superioress. She stood motionless, with her hands meekly folded, but in every line of her splendid figure, in the depths of her beautiful eyes, was written courage and strength, and love and sacrifice.

The Reverend Mother broke the silence at last.

"Be it as you wish, my child."

The days went by-days of torture, anxiety and prayer for Sister Euphrasia in the loneliness of that death-stricken chamber. The Reverend Mother sat alone waiting for a message, and hoping against hope. The door opened, and the tall, slim figure of Sister Euphrasia came slowly forward. Her face was pallid as death, but in her eyes shone the light of the "Ministering Angel."

The Mother rose to meet her.

"How is your little Valentine, dear Sister?"

"He is well-he has found his Mother."