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ON THE THRESHOLD OF LIFE
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because there was no room for him. You see the result."
Helen did not see Roger standing close beside her. Looking at the mangled little form at her feet, she spoke with a bitterness of tone which he had never heard before. Stepping forward, he touched her gently on the arm.
"My car is at the gate," he whispered. "Let us take the little fellow to the hospital and care for him. ' '
As they drove away a new world seemed to spread out before them. They had now one interest in common.
A few weeks later Mike, with "the pretty lady" beside him, sat ensconced in pillows waiting to receive his guests. Since he might not go to the Kindergarten, the Kindergarten was coming to him. One by one, children of all nations appeared before him and offered the fruits of their handiwork. Some few brought other gifts. All, either in strict obedience to whispered admonitions or awed by the unexpected grandeur of their surroundings, tip-toed in and out again with remarkable stillness. Then
came the hero, that great big man who had saved little kitty — for so Mike regarded the accident, never thinking of his own injury — and also sat down beside him.
Roger Hewett patted the child's cheek fondly.
"Better today, little man?" he inquired in the jovial tone Mike loved to hear.
"You bet."
Mike's eyes were more eloquent than his words. He smiled up into the face of his benefactor.
' ' Then suppose you give this to the pretty lady. Ask her to tell you what it means. ' '
The child took the paper Roger slipped into his hand and passed it on to Helen.
"The pretty lady" gasped.
"Roger!" she exclaimed, "is it really true ? ' '
1 ' It certainly is, ' ' he replied.
As he clasped her in his arms the check for five thousand dollars from Roger Hewett to the Kindergarten Association would, but for the little crippled boy, have fallen unnoticed to the floor.
Seen on the Screen
By GEORGE W. PRIEST
I saw her in a garden stand, with flaxen hair ablow; Her cheeks by cooling breezes fanned, and bonny brow of snow. She watched a flight of cooing doves athwart the sunset's glow; And jealous leaves, like little loves, in cadence whispered low.
Oh, pure soul 's wondrous dwelling place, with noble dreams aflow !
Oh, perfect blossom of a race where lovely flowers grow!
A mother's prayers thruout the years, a father's pride await
The hope that laughs at doubts and fears — Love beckons at the gate !
The picture turned to blankness strange — another scene to go — Oh, peace and passion, rest and change, in all our acts below! 'Twas but a mechanician's scheme, how very strange to know: An unknown artist's visioned dream, at Moving Picture Show,