It was a marvel how, in this hard life, had grown the grace and instincts which made Ally so lovable. She had had no books, no toys she had known no other child; she had spent whole years of days, simply watching the sun and the sky, as a little savage might in the forest; but in place of the savage's sense of freedom, she had had the constant pain of constraint and fear. There was a certain fine fiber in her nature, which had saved her from being benumbed and dulled by these; had transmuted the suffering into a patience all the more beautiful that it was so unconscious. It was certain that this fine organization must have come from her mother. If only we could have known,—if only we could have found a clew to her history! But Ally had no recollections of her; and the few papers found in her father's possession threw no light on his past or his plans for the future. What could have brought him to this remote spot, no one could divine; and where their luggage had been left, Ally did not know.
"It 's just as if she had been dropped out of the skies to me," said Jim, one day, as we were talking it all over; "and that is just where I used to look up, and think I saw little girl angels flying, when I was a little fellow, and used to cry for a sister. I remember once, when I was only eight years old, I spoke right out loud, in church, at prayer-time and asked my mother, 'Oh, mamma, is n't there the least chance of my ever having a little sistar?' And
