"I saw no one, Tilly," said her mother as she came back.

"I wish we had a curtain there," replied Tilly.

"I like to have our light shine out in the evening, for the road is

dark sometimes and is lonely just here. The twinkle of our lamp is pleasant to people's eyes as they go by. We can do so little for our neighbors I am glad to cheer the way for them.

Now go to bed, dear, I will come soon."

Soon the house was dark and still. No one saw the Christmas spirits at their work that night.

When Tilly opened the door next morning she gave a loud cry, clapped her hands

and

then stood still, speechless with wonder and delight.

There before the door lay a great pile of wood, all ready to burn, and near it a big bundle and a basket with a bouquet of winter roses, holly, and evergreen tied to the handle.

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Oh, mother! did the fairies do it?" cried Tilly, as she handed the basket to her mother and took the bundle in her arms.

"Yes, dear, the best and dearest fairy in the world, called Charity.' She walks abroad at Christmas time, does beautiful deeds like this, but stays not to be thanked," said her mother, as she undid the bundle.

There they were, the warm, thick blankets, the warm shawl, the new shoes, and, best of all, a pretty winter hat for Bessie. The basket was full of good things to eat. On the flowers lay a paper saying, "For the little girl who loves her neighbor as herself."

"Mother, I really think my bird is a

fairy bird, and all these good things came from him," said Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.

It really did seem so, for as she spoke the robin flew to the window, hopped to the bouquet and, perching among the roses, sang one of his sweetest songs.

The sun streamed in on flowers, bird, and happy child. No one ever knew that Mr. King had seen and heard the little girls the night before. No one dreamed that the rich man had learned a lesson from his poor neighbor.

Tilly's bird was a fairy bird. By her love and tenderness to the helpless thing she brought good gifts to herself, and happiness to the giver of them.

Besides, she had a friend that did not fly away, but stayed with her till the snow was gone, making summer for her in the winter time.

- From AUNT Jo's SCRAP BAG, by LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

GIVE, IF BUT A TRIFLE.

“Though but a trifle, something give
To help the poor along;

'Tis not how much, it is the will
That makes the virtue strong.

"You have but little? Never say
'Tis of no use to give;'

A penny, if you give to-day,
May help the dying live.

"Then give a trifle cheerfully,
From out thy little store,
And it will all return to thee
When thou wilt need it more."

WHAT?

What was it that Charlie saw to-day,
Down in the pool where the cattle lie?
A shoal of the spotted trout at play?
Or a sheeny dragon-fly?

The fly and the fish were there, indeed;

But as for the puzzle, -guess again! It was neither a shell, nor flower, nor reed, Nor the nest of a last year's wren.

Some willows droop to the brooklet's bed;

Who knows but a bee had fallen down? Or a spider, swung from his broken thread,

Was learning the way to drown?

You have not read me the riddle yet, Not even the wing of a wounded bee, Not the web of a spider, torn and wet, Did Charlie this morning see.

Now answer, you who have grown so wise,

What could the wonderful sight have been,

But the dimpled face and great blue eyes Of the rogue who was looking in?