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THE ANGEL.

1¢| HENEVER a good child dies, an angel from heaven comes
‘ down to earth, and takes the dead child in his arms,

spreads out his great white wings, and flies away over
all the places the child has loved, and picks quite a hand-full of
flowers, which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom
in heaven more brightly than on earth, And the Father presses
all the flowers to His heart; but He kisses the flower that pleases
Him best, and the flower is then endowed with a voice, and can
join in the great chorus of praise!

‘See ”—this is what an angel said, as he carried a dead child
up to heaven, and the child heard, as if in a dream, and they
went on over the regions of home where the little child had
played, and they came through gardens with beautiful flowers—
“which of these shall we take with us to plant in heaven?” asked
the angel.

Now there stood near them a slender, beautiful rose bush; but
a wicked hand had broken the stem, so that all the branches,
covered with half-opened buds, were hanging drooping around,
quite withered.

“The poor rose bush!” said the child. “Take it, that it may
bloom up yonder.”

And the angel took it, and kissed the child, and the little one
half opened his eyes. They plucked some of the rich flowers, but
also took with them the despised buttercup and the wild pansy.

“ Now we have flowers,” said the child.

And the angel nodded, but he did not yet fly upwards to heaven.
It was night and quite silent. They remained in the great city;
they floated about there in a small street, where lay whole heaps
of straw, ashes, and sweepings, for it had been removal-day.
There lay fragments of plates, bits of plaster, rags, and old hats,
and all this did not look well. And the angel pointed amid all
this confusion to a few fragments of a flower-pot, and to a lump
of earth which had fallen out, and which was kept together by
the roots of a great dried field flower, which was of no use, and
had therefore been thrown out into the street.

“We will take that with us,” said the angel. “I will tell you
why, as we fly onward.”

“Down yonder in the narrow lane, in the low cellar, lived a
poor sick boy; from his childhood he had been bedridden. When
he was at his best he could go up and down the room a few times,
leaning on crutches; that was the utmost he could do. Fora
few days in summer the sunbeams would penetrate for a few
hours to the ground of the cellar, and when the poor boy sat