She sat in a tiny rocking chair, nursing a little white
rabbit on her lap. She was not a beautiful child--she was too diminutive
and pale, with hazy blue eyes and faded yellow hair; yet her little face
was so demure and sweet, so meek and loving, that it would haunt and
soften you more than that of a beautiful child could. The child had been
orphaned from her birth, and when but a few days old had been received
into the "Children's Home."
Marian never had a favorite among her children, but this little waif was
so completely orphaned, so desolate and destitute, and withal so puny,
fragile and lifeless that Marian took her to her own heart day and
night, imparting from her own fine vital temperament the warmth and
vigor that nourished the perishing little human blossom to life and
health. If ever a mother's heart lived in a maiden's bosom, it was in
Marian's. As she had cherished Miriam, she now cherished Angel, and she
was as fondly loved by the one as she had been by the other. And so for
five years past Angel had been Marian's inseparable companion. She sat
with her little lesson, or her sewing, or her pet rabbit, at Marian's
feet while she worked; held her hand when she walked out, sat by her
side at the table or in the carriage, and slept nestled in her arms at
night.
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