“Yes, it is he!  And look at him! does he look like a boy who is thinking of playing marbles and spinning tops?” inquired Miss Claudia.

Indeed, no! no one who saw the child could have connected childish sports with him.  He was creeping wearily along, bent under the burden of the bag of meal he carried on his back, and looking from behind more like a little old man than a boy.

Mr. Middleton drove slowly as he approached him.

Ishmael drew aside to let the sleigh pass.

But Mr. Middleton drew up to examine the boy more at his leisure.

The stooping gait, the pale, broad forehead, the hollow eyes, the wasted cheeks and haggard countenance, so sad to see in so young a lad, spoke more eloquently than words could express the famine, the cold, the weariness, and illness he suffered.

“Oh, uncle, if you haven’t got a stone in your bosom instead of a heart, you will call the poor fellow here and give him a seat with us!  He is hardly able to stand!  And it is so bitter cold!” said Miss Claudia, drawing her own warm, sable cloak around her.

“But—­he is such an object!  His clothes are all over patches,” said Mr. Middleton, who liked sometimes to try the spirit of his niece.

“But, uncle, he is so clean! just as clean as you are, or even as I am,” said Miss Claudia.

“And he has got a great bag on his back!”

“Well, uncle, that makes it so much harder for him to walk this long, long road, and is so much the more reason for you to take him in.  You can put the bag down under your feet.  And now if you don’t call him here in one minute, I will—­so there now!  Ishmael!  Ishmael, I say!  Here, sir! here!” cried the little lady, standing up in the sleigh.

“Ishmael! come here, my boy,” called Mr. Middleton.

Our boy came as fast as his weakness and his burden would permit him.

“Get in here, my boy, and take this seat beside me.  We are going the same way that you are walking, and we can give you a ride without inconveniencing ourselves.  And besides I want to talk with you,” said Mr. Middleton, as Ishmael came up to the side of the sleigh and took off his hat to the party.  He bowed and took the seat indicated, and Mr. Middleton started his horses, driving slowly as he talked.

“Ishmael, did you ever have a sleigh-ride before?” inquired Claudia, bending forward and laying her little gloved hand upon his shoulder, as he sat immediately before her.

“No, miss.”

“Oh, then, how you’ll enjoy it!  It is so grand!  But only wait until uncle is done talking and we are going fast!  It is like flying!  You’ll see!  But what do you think, Ishmael!  Do you think somebody—­I know it was that old Hamlin—­didn’t go and tell uncle that you went and—­”

“Claudia, Claudia, hold your little tongue, my dear, for just five minutes, if you possibly can, while I speak to this boy myself!” said Mr. Middleton.