all his children to school; if they could not read, they would be poor, even if they should come to own parks and carriages, he could not bear to see them growing up with no books in their hands.  He worked long at the anvil as it was; and he was willing to work longer and harder to pay the schoolmaster for teaching his children to read.  Josiah was now ten years old; he had been a faithful boy; he had made nails ever since he could hold a hammer; and it was for this that he desired the more to send him to school.  It had troubled him much all along that the boy was working so long and so well at the anvil, without having any of his wages to pay the schoolmaster for teaching him something that would make him rich in his poverty when he came to be a man; and he had tried to make up this to him in a little way, by reading to him easy verses from the Testament, many of which he had learned by heart.  Besides this, he had bought a little picture-reading-book, since I was with them last, and Josiah could master many easy words in it; for he had learned almost all the letters.  But he knew this was a slow way of getting on, although he feared it was the best he could do for him.  He knew not how he could manage to spare him for the winter.  He had no other boy; there was a baby in the cradle only a fortnight old, which made him five children under ten years of age, to be fed, warmed and clothed through the winter months.  Here he fell into a calculation of this kind—­he could now earn nine shillings, or about two dollars and twenty cents, a week.  His coal cost him three shillings a week, and his house-rent two; leaving him but four shillings a week for a family of seven persons to live upon.  Josiah’s clothes were well nigh gone; they were indeed ragged; there was nothing left to sew patches to; and all he had in the world was on him, except a smock frock which he put on over them on the Sabbath.

These considerations gave a thoughtful tone to the nailer’s voice as they came upon his mind, and a thoughtful air came over the family group when he had finished, and they all looked straitly into the fire as much as to say, “It cannot be done.”  So I began at the bacon to soften down these obstacles—­there were nearly 150 pounds of it, besides a spare-rib hanging from another joist—­and suggested how much better off they were than ten thousands of poor people in the world.  Could they ever spare Josiah better than during this winter?  He would learn faster now than when he was older, and when they could not spare him so well.  Nor was this all; if they could get on without him for a few months, he might not only learn to read without spelling, but he could teach his three little sisters to read during the winter nights, and the baby, too, as soon as it could talk; so that sending him to school now, would be like sending all his children to the same school.  Yes, it might be more than this.  Let him go for a few months, and when he came back