“O Lord!” she prayed earnestly, “help these here childern to be good an’ kind to each other, an’ to their mas an’ their pas.  Make ’em thankful fer whatever they ’are got, even if it ain’t but a little.  Show us all how to live like you want us to live, an’ praise God from whom all blessin’s flow.  Amen.”

As the last youngster scampered out of the yard, Mrs. Wiggs turned to the window where Jim was standing.  He had taken no part in the singing, and was silent and preoccupied.  “Jim,” said his mother, trying to look into his face, “you never had on yer overcoat when you come in.  You ain’t gone an’ sold it?”

“Yes,” said the boy, heavily; “but ’t ain’t ’nough fer the rent.  I got to figger it out some other way.”

Mrs. Wiggs put her arm about his shoulder, and together they looked out across the dreary commons.

“Don’t you worry so, Jimmy,” said she.  “Mebbe I kin git work to-morrow, or you’ll git a raise, or somethin’; they’ll be some way.”

Little she guessed what the way was to be.

CHAPTER II

WAYS AND MEANS

    “Ah! well may the children weep before you! 
    They are weary ere they run;

    They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
    Which is brighter than the Sun.”

The cold wave that was ushered in that December morning was the beginning of a long series of days that vied with each other as to which could induce the mercury to drop the lowest.  The descent of the temperature seemed to have a like effect on the barrel of potatoes and the load of coal in the Wiggses’ parlor.

Mrs. Wiggs’s untiring efforts to find employment had met with no success, and Jim’s exertions were redoubled; day by day his scanty earnings became less sufficient to meet the demands of the family.

On Christmas eve they sat over the stove, after the little ones had gone to bed, and discussed the situation.  The wind hurled itself against the house in a very frenzy of rage, shaking the icicles from the window-ledge and hissing through the patched panes.  The snow that sifted in through the loose sash lay unmelted on the sill.  Jim had a piece of old carpet about him, and coughed with almost every breath.  Mrs. Wiggs’s head was in her hands, and the tears that trickled through her crooked fingers hissed as they fell on the stove.  It was the first time Jim had ever seen her give up.

“Seems like we’ll have to ast fer help, Jim,” she said.  “I can’t ast fer credit at Mr. Bagby’s; seems like I’d never have the courage to pull agin a debt.  What do you think?  I guess—­it looks like mebbe we’ll have to apply to the organization.”