her cheeks as kindly as ever.  Many a night she had leaned from the high window when Laura was asleep, dreaming innocent dreams, living over her short past, or trying to look into the future bravely and trustfully.  The little vine had felt warmer drops than rain or dew fall on it when things went badly, had heard whispered prayers when the lonely child asked the Father of the fatherless for help and comfort, had peeped in to see her sleeping peacefully when the hard hour was over, and been the first to greet her with a tap on the window-pane as she woke full of new hope in the morning.  It seemed to know all her moods and troubles, to be her friend and confidante, and now came with help like a fairy godmother when our Cinderella wanted to be fine for the little ball.

“Just the thing!  Why didn’t I think of it?  So bright and delicate and becoming?  It will last better than flowers; and no one can think I’m extravagant, since it costs nothing.”

As she spoke, Jessie was gathering long sprays of the rosy vine, with its glossy leaves so beattifully shaded that it was evident Jack Frost had done his best for it.  Going to her glass, she fastened a wreath of the smallest leaves about her head, set a cluster of larger ones in her bosom, and then surveyed herself with girlish pleasure, as well she might; for the effect of the simple decoration was charming.  Quite satisfied now, she tied on her cloud and slipped away without waking Laura, little dreaming what good fortune the ivy spray was to bring them both.

She found the children prancing with impatience to begin their ballet, much excited by the music, gaslight, and gay dresses, which made it seem like “a truly ball.”  All welcomed Jessie, and she soon forgot the cheap slippers, mended gloves, and old dress, as she gayly led her troop through the pretty dance with so much grace and skill that the admiring mammas who lined the walls declared it was the sweetest thing they ever saw.

“Who is that little person?” asked one of the few gentlemen who hovered about the doorways.

His hostess told Jessie’s story in a few words, and was surprised to hear him say in a satisfied tone,—­

“I’m glad she is poor.  I want her head, and now there is some chance of getting it.”

“My dear Mr. Vane, what do you mean?” asked the lady, laughing.

“I came to study young faces; I want one for a picture, and that little girl with the red leaves is charming.  Please present me.”

“No use; you may ask for her hand by-and-by, if you like, but not for her head.  She is very proud, and never would consent to sit as a model, I’m sure.”

“I think I can manage it, if you will kindly give me a start.”

“Very well.  The children are just going down to supper, and Miss Delano will rest.  You can make your bold proposal now, if you dare.”

A moment later, as she stood watching the little ones troop away, Jessie found herself bowing to the tall gentleman, who begged to know what he could bring her with as much interest as if she had been the finest lady in the room.  Of course she chose ice-cream, and slipped into a corner to rest her tired feet, preferring the deserted parlor to the noisy dining-room,—­not being quite sure where she belonged now.