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"No -- it can't be -- it can't be for me," she said with rapt gaze, and a sigh.

"Yes, it is for you," said Anne, quickly, "and nobody else but you. Our Society bought it for you, and make it a present to you, and all they ask is to see you in it."

"For me -- 0, mother, mother! what shall we say? How I can help myself! I can pay you visits, now; only think of it, wheel myself right over, no matter what part of the room you are; get anything I want that these arms will reach; why, I shall be so independent that I shall hardly know myself. I can't thank you," she added, with falling tears, turning to Anne, "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say a word," cried Anne, laughing. "Can't you put her in it? Do," turning, to the mother. "I want her to pay me a visit," she added, pleasantly.

With a little effort the girl was lifted out of the bed, and placed in the chair. To see her glee as she found herself rolling easily over towards Anne, was something to make an angel happier. She laughed and cried, caught hold of Anne's dress and kissed it, kissed her hands, while her sweet pale face lighted up with a radiance that seemed the reflex of some shining glory, and her mother, the happiest woman at that moment in all the great city, looked on with speechless pleasure.

I've just thought," said Anne, as the two left the poor home, brimming over with gratitude.

"Of what?" asked her grandfather.

"We'll have one of our socials there."

"It would be a good idea," returned Uncle Ralph. "The poor child has so few pleasures."

"And won't she enjoy it? I don't suppose she has ever heard many stories; and such good ones, as we have."

"Spare my feelings," cried Uncle Ralph.

"I won't, you do write beautiful stories, good enough to print, and so does Aunty and Mamma May, but someway yours are the best."

"I am the oldest, and have a larger experience," he replied, "but then you are partial."

"I'll see the girls," Anne went on, "I'm sure they'll all be willing."

"Well, what great plan is about now?" queried Mamma May. "Anne hasn't said a word for the last half hour."

Anne laid her plan before her.

"A most excellent one," was the smiling assent, "and you can take your music box with you."

"Beautiful!" cried Anne. "Poor thing, she hears no music, only those dreadful organs. Why, who knows but what she may get well!"

"She certainly will be all the better for so many cheering influences, and I am glad she proves to be so sweet and gentle a girl. I will help you take care of her, and as we have some nice soup for dinner, I will send her some. We might aid her in that way every day. Her poor mother must find it difficult to supply all her wants."

"Grandpa is going to keep her in apples, and you should see how happy she was in the chair! I never saw such eyes, and to think that I have done anything towards helping her."

"It has made a large hole in your funds."

"Yes," said Anne, thoughtfully, "we've only about fifty dollars left; hardly that, for we have had several applications. What shall we do if we get out of money?"

"Make some more," said May.

"But we can't have another fair, just now, it's too warm."

"Get up a picnic," suggested Aunt Nellie, who had heard Anne's last speech.

"Capital!" cried Anne.

"Charge a good round price for tickets, and let everybody carry their own refreshments."

"O, you dear Aunt Nellie, but where shall we go?"

"Out to Linwood."

"That beautiful pond! We'll charge fifty cents for the tickets, and have it week after next. We'll have nice tickets, and I know the girls will work heard. Perhaps we shall make fifty dollars."

"I shouldn't wonder," said Aunt Nellie. "We must not read to many stories there, but just roam about, smell the pines, eat ice cream and enjoy ourselves."

"Won't it be delightful!"

Anne was in good working order that day. She was always so busy for other people, that she found no time to be miserable on account of minor troubles. The secret of her happiness was having her hands and heart full. Mary was a wise woman. She had heard somewhere in her juvenile years the once familiar couplet,

"For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."

There never were truer words, never. Children should not be confined to hard work, but give them plenty to keep the little hands going and them little brain active. Send them out of themselves, in their dull humors; give them something or somebody to pity; let their little heads be crowded with pleasant fancies that they are of use, of importance, even if they pull up the flowers with the weeds.

At the next social the girls listened to Anne's story. At once they took an interest in the invalid and were for turning her poor room into a palace of light and beauty.

"Papa has plenty of pictures that he never means to use, I'm sure," said Kate Waters. "He will give me some, and we'll carry them to poor Tilly."

"And mamma has a great many beautiful moss baskets that she bought at auction, I'll ask her for two of them; how pretty they will look hanging up in the window!"