Time passed on, and New Year’s day rapidly approached, the anxiously longed-for time, to which Henry had never ceased to look forward since he left his mother’s presence.  Every passing day seemed to render his condition more and more uncomfortable.  The air grew colder and colder, and the snow lay all around to the depth of many inches.  A suit of cloth clothes had been “cooked up” for him out of an old coat and trowsers that had long since been worn threadbare by Mr. Sharp.  Thin though they were, they yet afforded a most comfortable substitute for those their welcome appearance had caused him to throw aside.  But the pair of shoes he had worn when he left Boston were still considered good enough, if thought of at all, notwithstanding they gaped largely at the toes, and had been worn so thin in the soles that scarcely the thickness of a knife-blade lay between his feet and the snow-covered ground.  In regard to sleeping, he was not much better off.  His bed was of straw, upon the floor, in a large unplastered garret, and but scantily supplied with covering.  Here he would creep away alone in the dark every night, on being driven away to bed from crouching beside the warm kitchen fire after his daily toil was done, and get under the thin covering with all his clothes on.  There he would lie, all drawn up into a heap to keep warm, and think of his mother, and long for New Year’s day to come, until sleep would lock up his senses in unconsciousness.

At last it was New Year’s eve, but the poor child had heard no word about going home.  He could sleep but little through that night for thinking about the promised return to his mother on the next day, and for the dread he felt lest Mr. Sharp had forgotten, or would disregard his promise.  The bright morning of another new year at length arose, clear and piercingly cold, and Henry crept early from his bed, and went down stairs to make the fires as usual.  When Mr. Sharp at length made his appearance, he looked wishfully and inquiringly into his face, but no notice whatever was taken of him, except to give him some order, in the usual short, rough tone in which he always addressed him.

“Ain’t I going home to see my mother to-day, sir?” was on his tongue, but he feared to utter it.

After breakfast he watched every movement of Mr. Sharp, expecting each moment to see him go out and get the chaise ready to take him to Boston.  But no such idea was in the mind of the thoughtless, unfeeling master.  Nine, ten, and eleven o’clock came and went, and the poor child’s anxious heart began to fail him.  Several times he was on the point of recalling to the mind of Mr. Sharp, his promise to his mother that he should be sent home at New Year’s, but as often his timid heart caused him to shrink back.  At last dinner-time came, and yet nothing was said, nor were there any indications that the boy was to go home.  The meal passed, and then Henry was directed to go on some errand about a mile away.