It was a poor little Slum-Sister who lay dying. She had contracted consumption of the rapid kind, arid had not been able to resist it beyond a year. For as long as she possibly could she went about performing her usual tasks, but when her strength was quite exhausted she was sent to a sanatorium, where she was nursed for several months without getting any better. When at last the girl understood that her case was hopeless she went home to her mother, who lived in a little house of her own in a suburban street. Now she was confined to her bed in a narrow room-the very same room she had occupied as child and young girl—and was awaiting death.

Her mother sat sorrowful at her bedside, but so anxious was she to bestow ah the care she could on nursing her daughter, that she gave herself no time to weep. A Sister, who had been the sick girl's colleague in the slum work, stood by the foot of the bed weeping silently. Her gaze hung with tenderest love on the face of the dying girl, and when the tears gathered in her eyes she hastily wiped them away. On a small uncomfortable chair, which the invalid so much prized that she had brought it with her when she moved, sat a stoutly built woman, with a big " F " embroidered on the collar of her dress. She had been offered another chair, but she insisted on sitting on the rickety one—as a mark of respect, as. it were, to the sick girl.

It was no ordinary day, this, but New Year's Eve ! The sky without hung grey and heavy, and so long as one sat indoors one fancied that the weather must be rough and chilly, but, once out in the air, one found that it was surprisingly mild and balmy. The ground lay black—without snow; now and again a snowflake fell, but it melted at once. Wind and snow seemed to think it not worth while setting to work to make a pother in the Old Year, but much preferred to husband their strength for the New Year that was fast approaching.

It was much the same with men as with the weather. They, too, seemed unable to set about anything. There was no movement without nor any work-within. Right opposite the house where the woman lay dying was a plot of land where piles were being driven in for a building. A few labourers had come there that morning, had drawn up the great pile-driver, accompanied by the usual noisy song, and had let it drop again. They did not stick long at their work, but soon tired of it, and went their way.

It was just the same with everything else. A few women had hurried by with their baskets to make purchases for the holiday. The traffic had continued for a while, but soon stopped. Children who had been out playing in the street were summoned home to put on their best clothes— and, after that, they had to stay indoors! Carthorses were driven past, to be stabled far away in the suburb, to rest for the next twenty-four hours. The longer the day advanced the quieter everything grew, and the cessation of every sort of noise was felt as a relief.

"It is well that she should die thus, on a holiday,'' said the mother. "Soon there will be no sounds from without to disturb her."

The sick girl. had been lying unconscious ever since morning, and the three who were gathered round her bed could say anything without her: hearing them. In spite of this, however, it was easy to perceive that she was not lying in a state of dull torpor—her countenance had changed its expression many times in the course of the forenoon. It had looked astonished and anxious; sometimes it had an imploring; at other times a cruelly tortured expression. Now for a long time it had been marked by a violent resentment, that marred and beautified it at the same time.

The little Slum-Sister had become so unlike herself that her companion, who was standing at the foot of the bed, stooped down to the other Salvationist, and whispered:

" Look, Captain, Sister Edith is getting so beautiful; she looks like a queen."

The stoutly-built woman got up from the low chair so as to get a better look at the invalid. Assuredly never before had she seen the little sister without the meek and cheerful mien which she had retained up to the last, however tired and ill she might feel. So surprised was the Captain at the change in the girl's appearance that she did not resume her seat, but remained standing.

By an impatient movement the little Sister had thrown herself so high on the pillow that she was sitting half upright in the bed. An expression of indescribable majesty hovered over her brow, and, though her mouth did not move, she looked as if words of chiding and contempt were issuing from her lips.

The mother looked up: at the two wondering women. "She has been like this on other days as well," she remarked. "Was it not about this time of day that she used to go on her rounds ? "

The Slum-Sister glanced at the patient's battered little watch that ticked on the table by the bedside.

"Yes," she admitted," it was at this time she used to seek the outcasts."

She stopped abruptly and put her handkerchief, to her eyes whenever she tried to say something about the invalid she found it difficult not to burst out weeping.

The mother took one of her daughter's hard little hands into her own, and stroked it.

"She has, I suppose, had far too hard a task in helping them to keep their dens clean, and warning them against their vicious habits," she said, with suppressed resentment in her voice. "When you have a too exacting task, it's hard to keep your thoughts from it. She fancies she is once more on her rounds, visiting them."

"That may sometimes be the case with a work one has loved too much," remarked the Captain quietly.

They noticed how the patient's eyebrows were raised and lowered till the wrinkle between them became deeper and deeper, and how the upper lip curved upwards. They waited, only for the eyes to open and. shoot a glance of withering scorn.

"She looks like an avenging angel!" cried the Salvationist Captain in an excited tone.

"What can they be about in the slums this particular day?" wondered her

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