angel, and hurried away out of sights as if he had been guilty of some wrong.
The litile singer was Eva Lawrence, the daughter of a well-to-do man of business in the town. She was not ten years of age by several months, but she was unusually thoughtful for her age, and was as kind-hearted as she was thoughtful.
As soon as Mr. Lawrence had finished his tea that evening, and had betaken himself to his easy chair, little Eva clambered upon his knee, and, putting her arms about his neck, said—
"Papa, what do you think?"
"Oh, I think ever so many things," he replied, laughing.
"Now, you naughty man, you're going to tease again. But I've begun wrong way about, as usual. I want to ask a favour."
"I expected as much, Eva," said her father, smiling. "But how many more Christmas presents will you want?"
"But this is not a present exactly."
"Oh, indeed," he said, pretending to look serious.
"Now, don't be a tease," she said, pulling his whiskers, "for I'm quite serious. Now listen."
"I'm all attention, my dear."
"You want a little boy to run errands and sweep out the office, and do little odd jobs, don't you?"
"Well, who has been telling you that?"
"Nobody, papa; I only wanted to know, you see. So you do, don't you?"
