|Mirror [#1]||On Picket Duty, and Other Tales.pdf||40,246 KB/Sec|
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This story is the Sunshine streamed in through the one small window, where a caged bird was blithely singing, and a few flowers blossomed in the light. But blither than the bird's song, sweeter than the flowers, was the little voice and wan face of a child, who lay upon a bed placed where the warmest sunbeams fell.