THE BROKEN PROMISE.

MRS. MORSE kept no regular servant. Mrs. Sticht, a German woman, came every Monday to do the week's washing, and every Tuesday to do the ironing. She had always been a happy-faced, merry woman, but one morning Stella Morse, going into the kitchen to make a pudding for dinner, found a sad face over the wash-board.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sticht," Stella said.

"Good mornin', Miss Stella," responded the washerwoman soberly, looking up with tear-filled eyes.

"Are you sick, Mrs. Sticht? You look pale and tired."

"I'm not sick, miss, but I am tired; I didn't rest much last night," she answered wearily.

"Then you better wait until another day to wash; mamma would be willing, I'm sure," Stella said kindly.

"No, miss, I'll keep right on washin', but I thank you all the same for your kindness. I'll be just as tired to-morrow, an' the day after too. A mother can't have much rest with a sick child to tend."

"Is your little girl sick, ma'am?"

"She's bin sick these two weeks with an awful cold; she's that weak that she can't hardly walk about the room, an' she's dreadful wakeful nights."

"Who stays with her when you go out to wash?"

"No one but her little brother Tim; an' he's only seven years old."

"And you go out washing every day, do you not?"

"No, miss; if I did I'd have more money than I've got. This is my only wash-place; the rest of the week I help an old fruit-woman down in the market, but I don't get much pay."

"Do you earn enough to support your children?"

"Yes, miss; but my husband's long sickness and death brought some heavy bills for me to pay. I can't get any extras for my little sick girl, though she's that lonesome when I'm gone that Tim says she cries most of the time."

"I should think she would be lonely, poor little soul! What does she want most, Mrs. Sticht?" Stella asked.

A smile flickered over Mrs. Sticht's face. Perhaps this young lady would do something for her little sick girl.

"Her whole mind seems to be set on a doll; she's never had a doll, and she thinks she'd never get lonesome if she had one; she's a lovin' little thing, Patty is."

"She shall have a doll before the week is out," Stella said decidedly. "I have a pretty wax one with golden curls and blue eyes that I used to play with myself. I have not had it out for a long time, and it has no clothes, but I'll dress it up just as pretty as I can, and—let me see, to-day is Monday—by Wednesday I'll have it ready."

"Oh! That is very good of you, Miss Stella," the woman said gratefully. "Patty'll laugh for joy sure."

"Let me see, what is your number, Mrs. Sticht?"

"Number Eleven, Spraker's Court. I can come after the doll, if you say so."

"No, I'll not trouble you; besides, I want to see the little sick girl. Just tell her for me, please, that I'll be there on Wednesday with a beautiful doll, dressed in ruffled blue silk, and I will bring her some other things too."

Stella spoke earnestly, and a load was lifted from the mother's heart. Her unspoken thought was, "I believe the child will soon get better when she gets the doll she so longs for."

Patty's eyes grew bright when her mother told her that a dear, kind young girl was coming to her on Wednesday with a beautiful blue-eyed, golden-haired doll, dressed in blue silk.

"For my very own? O mamma, for my very own?" asked Patty, clasping and unclasping her thin white hands in her excitement.

There were tears in her mother's eyes as she bent her head and kissed Patty's forehead, saying tenderly, "Yes, dear, for your very own."

Wednesday came—a bright, beautiful day. Patty's first words to her mother were, "O mamma! this is the day that my dolly is coming. O mamma! I believe I'll get well quick when dolly comes."

Mrs. Sticht did not like to leave home that morning for some reason, but she felt that she must, for the rent was nearly due, and the doctor who came to see the child cared more for filling his pockets than for filling human hearts with thankfulness. She came home very weary, but with one glad thought, namely, "I suppose Patty is overjoyed with her pretty doll. How good of Miss Stella to think of my poor little one!"

But as she stepped over her own threshold, a very weary little face greeted her. Patty's cheeks were flushed, and she said brokenly, "O mamma, my dolly didn't come."

"An' she wouldn't stop cryin', mamma, an' my head aches," sobbed Tim, who was worn out by his sister's day of bitter sorrow.

Mrs. Sticht did not go to bed that night. She watched beside restless Patty, who tossed about all night, talking about blue eyes and golden hair and blue silk dresses, moaning in her sleep, "An' my dolly didn't come; an' my sweet, sweet dolly didn't come."

Monday morning came. A little boy stood knocking at Mrs. Morse's kitchen door. Stella opened it. "Mamma can't wash to-day, Patty's tuk worse," he said quickly, and then scampered away.

"Oh, what a shame that I haven't dressed that doll!" Stella said mentally. "I certainly meant to, but there were so many things to take up my attention that I kept putting it off. I'll dress it this very day."

Tuesday morning Stella, with the beautiful, tastefully dressed doll in her arms, and a little bag of oranges also, started for Mrs. Sticht's. In answer to her rap, Mrs. Sticht opened the door. Her eyes were heavy with weeping and her face had grown more aged.

"How is little Patty this morning, Mrs. Sticht? I've brought her the doll. Can I see her?" were Stella's rapid questions.

"Yes, Miss Stella, you can see her. Walk in, please."

There was anguish and reproof in the mother's tone; Stella stepped inside the poorly furnished room; the mother led the way to one corner, and pointed to a little white-draped cot.

The terrible truth dawned upon Stella. She had come too late. Patty was dead. She burst into tears as the sobbing, broken-hearted mother uncovered the little still face. Through her tears Stella could see how beautiful Patty was, with her golden hair brushed back from a pretty forehead, and her dear little hands clasped over her still bosom.

"And did you tell her I would bring the doll? Did she look for it?" Stella moaned, her remorseful tears rolling down her cheeks like rain.

"'Look for it!' Yes, Miss Stella, she looked for it day and night," Mrs. Sticht answered huskily. "She was very light-headed toward the last; she talked of nothin' else. Just before she died her reason returned. She sat up in bed, an' put her arms around my neck an' said, 'Good-by, mamma; I'm goin' to heaven.' I cried aloud, but Patty smoothed my cheek, and said, 'Don't cry, mamma, you'll come by and by, an' I'll be waitin' and lovin' my blue-eyed dolly, 'cause I know Jesus will give me one, 'cause there's no tears in heaven.'"