MADELINE.

T was far up at the top of an old house that Made-
line lived with her dear mamma, that dear petite

 
 

mamnan who was always so sad now, even when
there was the music of marching soldiers in the
street below, and when the sun shone on the box of flowers
in the window so cheerily as to entice the one rose-bud on
the bush into bloom. It is true that Madeline’s papa was
in heaven, and that when Madeline wanted a special treat
mamma would shake her head and say, “No, my little one,
the sous in mamma’s purse are much too few for us to go to St.
Cloud or Versailles.” But then one does not really need a treat
to make one happy when one can look down on gay Paris, and
when the concierge is good-natured and will allow visitors in

her room, who can behold the wonders of feather flowers and
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