Year: 1866

fs T
face had grown the grass of many sum-
mers; how proud she was of him! and
he could see the littlegoldcn head dane
ing out of the house every night to
meet hin when ho camo from his
work. .- . I. ..t .......,.....


Stephen Dunham's mother was a
poor widow, and lac had his own way
to work In the world. He had risen
step hy step in his native town; and it
was so at last that greed of money had
taken possession Of him, until every
wish and purpose of his life had been
swallowed up in the pursuit of riches.


He was still u young man when he
came to tho city, but Ire brought with
him the title of esquire" which hehad
borne for three years. He took to him
sclfa wife, the daughter of rich man !;
and she brought him n hundred thou
sand dollars for her dowry but in a
few years death had summoned her
away, and she left him no children,
whose soft, sweet voices, calling him
"iathur,h should melt the cold heart
that knew but one love, and that one
! money.
Allthis Squire Dunham thought of
rs he sat alone hy his table, with the
bright flaming light of the chandeliers
gliding the gray head that rested on his
hands; and he thought, rich man as
he was, that his money didn't pay
that, after all, the great object of his
life had been, as the man said, a clos
ing operation" and he longed to feel
that In the wide world there was one
human being who would be sorry to
hear that he was dead one human
being, man, woman, or child, who
would say, ~ am happier this night
because you are on earth"


And in the midst of want and yearn-
ing, sudden resolution flashed across
the mind of Squire Dunham. He rose
up and walked again to and fro, with
his hands behind him, his fore
head knit with perpleXing thought ,and
variety of emotions fitting over his
face. But suddenly he stopped, and sci
his foot resolutely down: "Tll 10 it
I'll do it, this very night" and he
went into the hall, and took up his
cane, and passed out into the street,
contrary to his usual habit-for the
night was dark and cold.





"Did you see Mr.. Minor, Henry ?'
1t was faint, mournful voice, which
asked this question, and the speaker
was sad pale-faced woman, whose
sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks told
you ut once she was an invalid. Tho
chamber where she sat was very poor.
ly furnished, but everything was neat
a small fire was burning in thegrate, and
a solitary candle was on the table. mo
mother, Mr.. Minor, won't be at home
for Il week." answered the boy. slowly
and sadly, as though he hated to com
municate the news. He was slender
delicate looking boy, apparently in hi.
twelfth year.


alt is my last hope" said the mother
looking despairingly on the thin hands
which lay in her lap. There's no way
to pay the rent, and the agent said if i,
WASH ready when he called Tomorrow
we must go into the street. What will
become of us, my poor children? I'd
hung on Mr.. Minors getting back, he
was so kind to your father before he
died; but my last hope is now gone
] could have earned the money If il
hadn't been for this sickness, brought
Oh by steady sewing, but tomorrow
we must go into the street. She said
this with great tears slowly chasing
each Uher down her pale checks.


"Dont cry, mother, earned shil-
ling this afternoon selling papers, and
brought you and Mary each a nice
orange" interposed the boy, trying to
speak in Il bright hopeful voice.


And now a small hand was thrust
out for the fruit, and little voice said
earnestly, "Oh mother, don't let us
feel bad now we've got the oranges"


At that moment there was q loud rap
at the chamber door, which startled tie
little family, but Harry was not long
ushering into the room an old gentle
man, who inquired il Mrs. Carpenter
resided there.


His glance took I'm the room and its
three occupants, and after taking the
seat that Harry brought him he said,
" am Squire Durham, and / called
here to say, Mrs. Carpenter, that ]
would not press the matter about the
rent; that If you could not meet it, you
might stay here and would not trouble
you" .....


A fash of joy went over the three
faces, but the mother broke down with
a sob "Oh, sir, God in Heaven bless
you for this !" And they were the
sweetest words Stephen Durham had
heard for many a day.


But before he could answer, his gaze
was attracted to small, wistful. up
turned face i'm the corner, and its sweet
blue eyes, and golden CLEAN in its
brown hair. were like that face which
shone away Off in the morning of his
boyhood-the face of his sister Hctty.


AS his gaze met the little girls, she
rose up and came towards him. "You
won't send mamma and Harry and me
into the street, will you?" she said, in
her sweet pleasing way; because We
can't live there where the wind blows
and the great carriages will go over us;
and mamma is sick, and i am little
girl, you know, and Harry isn't big
enough to do anything but sell pa
pers." ar


"My child" said he, "you shall
never 60 into the street." and his voice
was not quite steady, and there was q
strange moisture about his eyes. He
took the little girl upon his knee. and
she nestled her bright young head up