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Caption: Illio - 1896
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• Zfc (?U$cf of tflc ^tccftin^e. I'Kl/.i: I'oKM. In the evening, when the firelight thrown dark shadows on the wall, Touches light each chair and table, gilds the clock-face in the hall, In our quiet little cottage, it is then tho presence fair Of the Angel of the Stockings comes and visits with us t h e r e . Every day she sits among us in the old rush-bottomed chair, And we feel a gentle peacefulness because we know she's t h e r e ; A peacefulness that's mirrored in each happy, quiet face When the Angel of the Stockings keeps her old accustomed place. In the glowing of the firelight, the halo on her hair Seems as bright as in the pictures are the glories angels wear; And the firelight in its glancing touches tenderly a face Such as painters of the angels have vainly sought to trace. As she sits her hands are busy, quick her lily fingers fly, And a slender wand of silver glints and glitters to the eye: A little darning needle—and upon a little chair, In a little willow basket, are the stockings waiting there. One by one t h e y ' r e each unfolded, and the luckless rent or tear Deftly, quickly, Boon is mended till you'd never know 'twas there. Deftly smoothing, kissing, folding, and the loving work is done And the Angel lays away the little stockings one by one. I hear her step behind me. She kisses me good night! Happy man to be so favored—but it seems to me quite right; For I've promised to take care of that sweet vision all my life, And the Angel of the Stockings is my own dear angel-wife. W. L. STEELE. 228
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