“Dear me, sir, it’s not that,” the woman replied, somewhat confused, as she sat down upon a splint-bottom chair, and plucked at her apron.  “It’s not the trouble I mind; it’s something else.  You see, it’s this,” she continued, while a flush passed over her care-worn face.  “He left us last February, after one month’s illness, and what with the doctor’s bills and funeral expenses it was hard scraping.  We tried our best to get along, and ploughed and sowed last spring.  But it was a bad year for us.  The frost destroyed our buckwheat and potatoes when they were just in blossom; a fine cow died, and the foxes killed our geese and turkeys.  But we had our logs, and we always felt that we could fall back on them if the worst came.  Then just as we had made up our minds to sell a strip to that new Light and Power Company another blow fell.”

“What was that?” Sinclair quickly asked, as a new light dawned upon his mind.

“It was a letter, sir, that I received from Mr. Sinclair, the manager of the city Light and Power Company, and who does a big lumbering business besides.  He told me that a new line had been run by a surveyor between the shore lots and the old Dinsmore Manor, and that all of those logs which I had hoped to sell belong to him.  He warned me not to sell or cut one, as he would prosecute me at once if I did.  His men have already begun work, and I am helpless to stop them.  It is no use for me to go to law as I have no money, and it takes money to fight a man like that.  Would you like to see the letter, sir?”

“No, no,” Sinclair hastily replied.  “That man is a dev——.  Excuse me, madam, but I mean he is a hard man.”

“Well, you see,” the woman continued, “things got so bad that we had to give up every little luxury, and the few dollars we could make from eggs and butter went for flour, clothing and taxes.  Tea we found too expensive, and it was given up.  That is the reason why I can’t give you any to-night, sir.  And the poor children are so disappointed.  Never before were they without presents at Christmas time.  But this year——­” Here the woman stopped and put her apron to her face.  It was for only an instant, however, for quickly removing it she continued:  “But gracious me! here I’ve been bothering you with my long tale of woe, when you, poor man, have troubles enough of your own.  I have some fresh bread, butter, milk and preserves, which you shall have at once,” and the little woman bustled away, leaving Sinclair alone with his thoughts.

“Isn’t it about time the mailman was along?” the mother asked that evening, after the chores had been done, and the children were sitting quietly in the room for fear of waking the stranger who had fallen asleep upon the sofa.

“I believe I hear his bells now!” Stephen cried, as he rushed to the door.  Presently he came running back, his face aglow with excitement.  “A bundle, Mother!” he shouted.  “A big bundle!  Come and help me.”