“Bless me! little one!” he said, lifting her from the ground and placing her within the door.  “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“I’m George’s sister, and I’ve come to work in his place till he gets well,” replied the child, as she stood, with shivering body and chattering teeth, looking up earnestly into the man’s face.

“George Foster’s sister?”

“Yes, sir.  His hand’s hurt so he can’t work, and I’ve come to work in his place.”

“You have!  Who sent you, pray?”

“Nobody sent me.”

“Does your mother know about your coming?”

“No, sir.”

“Why do you want to work in George’s place?”

“If I do, then you’ll send mother a dollar and a half every week, won’t you?”

The owner of the mill was a kind-hearted man, and this little incident touched his feelings.

“You are not big enough to work in the mill, my child,” said he, kindly.

“I’m nine years old,” replied Emma, quickly.

“Oh yes!  I can work as well as anybody.  Do let me come in George’s place!  Won’t you?”

Emma had not been gone very long before she was missed.  Her mother had become quite alarmed about her, when she heard sleigh-bells at the door, and, looking out, saw the owner of the mill and her child.  Wondering what this could mean, she went out to meet them.

“This little runaway of yours,” said the man, in a pleasant voice, “came trudging over to the mill this morning, through the snow, and wanted to take the place of George, who was so badly hurt yesterday, in order that you might get, as she said, a dollar and a half every week.”

“Why, Emma!” exclaimed her mother, as she lifted her from the sleigh.  “How could you do so?  You are not old enough to work in your brother’s place.”

“Besides,” said the man, “there is no need of your doing so; for George shall have his dollar and a half, the same as ever, until he is able to go to work again.  So then, my little one, set your heart at rest.”

Emma understood this very well, and bounded away into the house to take the good news to her brother, who was as much rejoiced as herself.  After inquiring about George, and repeating to Mrs. Foster what he had said to Emma, he told her that he would pay the doctor for attending the lad, so that the accident needn’t prove a burden to her.

The heart of Mrs. Foster lifted itself, thankfully, as she went back into the house.

“Don’t scold her, mother,” said George.  “She thought she was doing right.”

This appeal, so earnestly made, quite broke down the feelings of Mrs. Foster, and she went quickly into another room, and closing the door after her, sat down by the bedside, and, burying her face in a pillow, suffered her tears to flow freely.  Scold the child!  She felt more like taking her in her arms, and hugging her passionately to her bosom.