to carrying in wood, I’d dirty all my clothes, and then somebody would want to know the reason.  So John he carried in some wood.  Then I watched Sarah, but she didn’t go in.  So I told her about it.  And then she promised, but didn’t go.  I told her again, and she promised, but didn’t go.  I waited and waited until night, and still Sarah didn’t go in.  Then you see, awhile ago I slipped out the front door, and tried to go in to Mrs. Warburton’s.  But it was all so dark there, that I couldn’t see anybody; and when I called ‘Charley,’ here, his mother said, softly, ‘who’s there,’ and I said ’it’s only little Willy.  Ma wants to know if you don’t want nothing.’  ’Oh, it’s little Willy—­it’s little Willy!’ says Charley, and he jumps on the floor, and then we both came in here.  O! it’s so dark and cold in there—­do pa go in, and make John build them a fire.”

During the child’s innocent but feeling recital, more than one eye filled with tears.  Mrs.—­hung down her head for a moment, in silent upbraidings of heart, for having consigned a work of charity to neglectful and unfeeling servants.  Then taking her child in her arms, she hugged him to her bosom, and said,

“Bless you, bless you, my boy!  That innocent heart has taught your mother a lesson she will not soon forget.”  The father felt prouder of his son than he had ever felt, and there were few present who did not almost wish him their own.  Little Charley was asked by Mr.—­if he was hungry, on observing him wistfully eyeing a piece of cake.

“We haint had nothin’ to eat all day, sir, none of us.”

“And why not, my little man?” asked Mr.—­in a voice of assumed calmness.

“‘Cause, sir, we haint got nothin’ to eat in the house.  Mother always had good things for us till she got sick, and now we are all hungry, and haint got nothin’ to eat.”

“Here, Sarah, (to the housekeeper, who came in at the moment)—­no, not you, either—­do you, Emma, (to his wife,) give this hungry child some nourishing food with your own hands.  He has a claim on you, for the sake of our little Willy.”

Mrs.—­was not slow in relieving Charley’s wants and then, after excusing herself to the company, she visited, with John and Sarah, the humble, uncomplaining child of humanity, who had been suffering, so painfully, in the next house to her comfortable dwelling.

The light carried by John revealed, in the middle of the floor, the armful of wood, in large logs, almost impossible to kindle, which the servant had thrown down there without a word, or an offer to make a fire.  Mrs.—­’s heart smote her when she saw this evidence of her neglect of true charity.  Enveloped in the bed-clothes, she found Mrs. Warburton and her little child, the former suffering from pain and fever, and the latter asleep, with tears glistening on her eyelashes.  The room was so cold that it sent chills all over her, as she had come in without throwing a shawl around her shoulders.