A week passed away.  A child in the village had had strange dreams concerning the gifts, which, in substance, was that a beautiful angel had come from the stars above, and brought flowers to every house in which a light was seen.

“We did not have any light that night,—­don’t you remember?” remarked the eldest of the women, as their neighbor told them of the strange dream.

“There must be something in it,” answered the little bright-eyed woman.  “For all the dwellings had flowers which were lighted.”

“I suppose we ought always to be more hopeful,” said the women together.  “The lamps of our houses should typify the light of hope, which should never be dim, nor cease burning.”

* * * * *

Hope was taken up, by a golden cord, to her abode.  The starry group sang heavenly anthems to refresh her, and Love twined a fresh garland for her brow.  They held another festival in the temple, in honor of her and her safe return from the earth.

Ever since she has been the brightest light in the group; and at night, when the clouds rising from the earth obscure all the others, the star on the brow of Hope is shining with a heavenly lustre, and seen by all whose gaze is upward.

VI.

Joy and sorrow.

Many years ago, two visitors were sent from realms above, to enter the homes of earth’s inhabitants, and see how much of true happiness and real sorrow there were in their midst.  Hand in hand they walked together, till they entered a pleasant valley nestled among green hills.  At the base of one of these stood a cottage covered with roses and honeysuckles, which looked very inviting; and the external did not belie the interior.

The family consisted of a man and wife somewhat advanced in years, an aged and infirm brother, and two lovely young girls, grandchildren of the couple.

The pleasant murmur of voices floated on the air,—­pleasant to the ear as the perfume of the roses climbing over the door was to the sense of smell.  It chimed with the spell of the summer morning, and the sisters knew that harmony was within.

“Let us enter,” said Joy.

Sorrow, who was unwilling to go into any abode, lingered outside.

Within, all was as clean and orderly as one could desire:  the young girls were diligently sewing, while before them lay an open volume, from which they occasionally read a page or so, thus mingling instruction with labor.

Joy entered, and accosted them with, “A bright morning.”

“Very lovely,” answered the girls, and they arose and placed a chair for their visitor.

“We have much to be grateful for every day, but very much on such a day as this,” remarked the grandmother.

“You’re a busy family,” said Joy.

“Yes, we all labor, and are fond of it,” answered the woman, looking fondly at the girls.  “We have many blessings, far more than we can be grateful for, I sometimes think.”