THE other day a curious old woman, having a bundle in her hands, and walking with painful effort, sat down on a curb-stone to rest. A group of three little ones, the eldest about nine, stopped in front of the old woman, saying never a word, but watching her face. She smiled. Suddenly the smile faded, and the corner of the old calico apron went up to wipe away a tear. Then the eldest child asked, "Are you sorry because you haven't any children?" I—I had children once, but they are all dead," whispered the woman, a sob in her throat. "I'm sorry," said the little girl, as her chin quivered. "I'd give you one of my little brothers, but I haven't got but two, and I don't believe I'd like to spare one." "God bless you, child—bless you forever," sobbed the old woman, and for a minute her face was buried in her apron. "But I tell you what I'll do," seriously continued the child. "You may kiss us all once, and if little Ben isn't afraid, you may kiss him four times, for he is just as sweet as candy." Pedestrians who saw three well-dressed children put their arms around the strange old woman's neck and kiss her, were greatly puzzled. They didn't know the hearts of children, and they didn't hear the woman's words as she rose to go: "O children, I'm only a poor old woman, believing I had nothing to live for; but you've given me a lighter heart than I've had for ten long years."