It was the railing through which he had watched the children on
that day last summer, and the steps on which he sat were the steps of
St. Teresa's Orphanage. He had taken the right turning after all and had
reached his destination without knowing it.
With difficulty. Peter got upon his feet, lifted the baby and essayed to
drag himself up that long flight of steps. Panting, exhausted, he
reached the top and laid his burden down at the threshold of that door
which always opened so gladly to receive such waifs as he. In the
darkness Peter felt around for the bell. Surely, there must be a bell
somewhere. He must find it quickly for that dreadful feeling was
creeping over him and he knew in another moment he would fall. Where was
it; oh! why could he not find it? At last the despairing fingers touched
the button of an electric bell; they pressed it hard, and a loud peal
rang through the hall inside. Then Peter sank down to the ground beside
the baby and even his head went this time.
A moment later (or so it seemed to Peter) he opened his eyes and saw
bending over him the most beautiful face he had ever beheld. He knew now
that he was in heaven was looking on the face of an angel. It was just
what he should think an angel's face ought to be, so sweet and kind and
gentle, the soft eyes filled with heavenly love and pity.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131