“Now,” said their leader, “descend on this passing cloud; and while you are gone we will sing anthems for you, to keep your heart bright and linked to ours.”

Then she fastened the cord to her golden girdle, and let her down gently from the skies.

* * * * *

In a little cottage by a roadside sat Mary Deane and her sister, reading.  They were two fair orphans whose father and brother were lost in battle.

“Let’s put out the light, and look at the stars awhile,” said the youngest.

“Not yet, dear, it’s too early.  There may be some passer-by, and a light is such a comfort to a traveler on the road.  Many a time our neighbor’s light has sent a glow over me which has enabled me to reach home much sooner, if not in better humor.”

“As you like, sister,—­but hark!  I thought I heard footsteps.”

They listened, and, hearing nothing more, finished their reading and retired to rest.

On opening their door the next morning, their eyes were gladdened by a lovely garland which hung on the knob.  The flowers were rich in, perfume and color—­unlike anything they had seen on earth.

Much they marveled, and wondered from whence they came, and still greater was their joy to find they did not fade.

Hope found a great many dwellings with lights in them, but had to pass many, as there was no lamp to signal them.  At the door of the former she left garlands to gladden the inmates.

“It’s no use to waste our oil:  we have nothing to read or interest us,” said one of two lonely women, on the night Hope came to the earth.  So they sat down gloomily together, the darkness adding to their cheerlessness, while a bright glow within would have gladdened them and all without.

Hope went by, laden with garlands, just as they took their seats in the shadows.  She would gladly have left them, for she had enough and to spare; but, seeing no sign of a habitation, walked on.

The two women talked of the dreary world until they went to rest.  What was their surprise, in the morning, to find their neighbors rejoicing over their mysterious gifts.

“Why had we none?” they said again and again.  “The poor never have half as much given them as the wealthy,” they cried, and went back to their gloom and despair.

“Did you find a wreath on your doorstep this morning?” inquired a bright, hopeful woman at noon, who had brought them a part of her dinner.

“No, indeed!” they answered.  “Did you find one on yours?”

“The handsomest wreath I ever saw.  Who ever could have made one so lovely?  But”—­she stopped suddenly, on seeing their sad faces.  “You shall have part of mine:  I will cut it in two.”

“Never!” said the eldest quickly.  “There is some reason why we were omitted; and, until we can know the cause, you must keep your wreath unbroken.”

It was very noble of her to come out of herself and refuse to accept what she instinctively felt did not belong to her.