A few years passed by, and their earthly comforts were not diminished; they still occupied the cottage their own hands had beautified, and having won the affectionate esteem of their landlord, a good old baker, he assured them that he would never raise their rent or suffer them to leave it.  Their son William had reached his eighth year, and was what might be called a good boy; for, having no bad example, and being naturally of a docile disposition, and for the most part obedient and gentle, there was little occasion for fault-finding.  To the anxious father the thought had often occurred, “What is to be his future lot—­in what line of business is he to be brought up?” and he mostly concluded he could never bear a separation from this boy, who was as the very apple of his eye; he would teach him his own trade, which, although by no means a profitable, was at least a respectable one, and would furnish a livelihood.  There were times when, looking into the intelligent blue eyes that would be lifted up so lovingly to meet his gaze, he would wish that he might be able to educate his boy; but almost at once he would conquer the longing, and say to himself:  “It is God who appoints to every man his station, and I must not murmur because my child’s lot is destined to be a lowly one.  There is danger in high places, and I ought rather to rejoice that our poverty removes him far from the temptation he would meet with in a more exalted station.”

One evening, it was a dull and cloudy one near the close of December, George Raymond came home seeming more than ordinarily cheerful, greatly to the delight of his good Margaret, who did not like to see him too thoughtful.  “Times seem to grow better, wife,” he said, after he finished his supper; “I have had plenty of work at seal engraving this last fortnight; it seems my work has been approved in the city.”

“We have always had enough for the supply of our daily wants,” answered Margaret; “and we are told not to be too anxious about the goods of this world.”

“I am not very anxious,” said Raymond; “at least not on my own account; but sometimes I think if I should be called away, what would become of you, Gretta, and little Will?”

“The Lord would provide for us, George, as he has ever done,” was the wife’s reply; “he is ever faithful to his promise, and he has declared that those who wait on him shall not want for any good thing.”

“That is very true, Margaret; but we must use lawful means to provide bread for our families,” said Raymond; “but where is Will?  I have not seen him since I came in; neither did he come to meet me as usual.”

“I am here, father,” said a sweet childish voice; and creeping from a dark corner between the cupboard and the wall, a little boy came forth and stood at his father’s knee, and, without speaking, looked up into his face with an expression of more than ordinary meaning.  Slight and delicately made, he was easily raised to his usual seat on his father’s knee, when, kissing him affectionately, he inquired, “What have you been doing all day, Will?  I believe you have had no school.”