To know that the small income her boy’s labour had produced was not to be cut off, proved a great relief to the mind of Mrs. Foster; but, in a little while, her thoughts went back to the landlord’s threat and the real distress and hopelessness of their situation.  To the period of her husband’s return she looked with no feeling of hope; but, rather, with a painful certainty, that his appearance would be the signal for the landlord to put his threat into execution.

Sadly the days went by, each one bringing nearer the time towards which the unhappy woman now looked forward with a feeling of dread.  That the landlord would keep his promise, she did not, for an instant, doubt.  Without their cow, how could she, with all her exertions, feed her children?  No wonder that her heart was troubled.

At last the day before the opening year came.

“Papa will be home to-morrow,” said Emma.  “I wonder what he will bring me for a New Year’s gift.”

“I wish he would bring me a book,” said George.

“I’d like a pair of new shoes,” remarked the little girl, more soberly, looking down at her feet, upon which were tied, with coarse strings, what were called shoes, but hardly retained their semblance.  “And mamma wants shoes, too,” added the child.  “Oh!  I wish papa would bring her, for a New Year’s gift, a nice new pair of shoes.”

The mother heard her children talking, and sighed to think how vain were all their expectations.

“I wish we had a turkey for father’s New Year’s dinner,” said Emma.

“And some mince pies!” spoke up little Hetty, the youngest, clapping her hands.  “Why don’t we have mince pies, mamma?” she said, taking hold of her mother’s apron and looking up at her.

“Papa likes mince pies, I know; and so do I. Don’t you like mince pies, George?”

George, who was old enough to understand better than the rest of them the true cause of the privations they suffered, saw that Hetty’s questions had brought tears to his mother’s eyes, and, with a thoughtfulness beyond his years, sought to turn the conversation into another channel.

But the words of the children had brought to the mind of Mrs. Foster a memory of other times,—­of the many happy New Years she had enjoyed with her husband, their board crowned with the blessings of the year.  Her dim eyes turned from her neglected little ones, and fell upon a small ornament that stood upon the mantle.  It was the New Year’s gift of her husband in better days.  It reminded her too strongly of the contrast between that time and the gloomy present.  She went quickly from the room, to weep unheard and alone.

New Year’s morning at length broke clear and cold.  Mrs. Foster was up betimes.  It was no holiday to her.  Early in the day her husband was to come home, and though she could not help looking and wishing for him to come, yet the thought of him produced a pressure in her bosom.  She felt that his presence would only bring for her heart a deeper shadow.