[A BRAVE LITTLE SISTER.]
One cold day this winter, as it was growing late, Mrs. Ivy, whose home is in Pictou, Nova Scotia, was obliged to go out, leaving her two children alone. Their father was dead.
Little Alice was only seven and Henry was five years old. They played together awhile, and Alice told Henry stories, and they tried to think that the time was slipping away very fast, and that mother would soon be back.
But presently it began to get dark in the room where the careful mother had left them, locking them in for safety. The stars were twinkling in the sky, and the lamps were lighted in the street. Alice knew where the matches were kept, and she had often seen her mother light their lamp, so she thought she would do it now.
Unfortunately neither she nor little Henry observed that they had set the burning lamp very near their mother's working dress and Alice's white apron, which were hanging quite close to the mantel.
The first thing they knew, these had caught fire, and the room was in a blaze.
What should little Alice do? How could she save Henry? She never thought about her own danger. The key was in the lock, alas! on the other side of the door.
Quick as a flash she raised the window, and creeping out to the end of the projecting shelf, lowered herself till she hung at arm's-length, and then dropped to the ground.
It was a distance of thirty-five feet, but the air buoyed up her clothing, something as it does that of a little girl when she whirls round and drops down in what we used to call a pot-cheese. Alice reached the ground unhurt.
She flew up stairs and unlocked the door. No Henry was there. Frightened and desperate, she screamed and cried so that the neighbors came running to see what had happened.