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“True, Jack; old Nell is not poor in one sense: she is rich in faith. She has got `contentment with godliness,’ and many rich people have not got that. Nevertheless she has none too much of the necessaries of this life, and none at all of the luxuries, so that she is what people usually call poor.”

“That’s a puzzler, mammy–poor and rich both!”

“I daresay it is a puzzler,” replied Mrs Matterby, with a laugh, “but be off with your basket and message, my son; some day you shall understand it better.”

Pondering deeply on this “puzzler,” the boy went off on his mission, trudging through the deep snow which whitened the earth and brightened that Christmas morning.

“She’s as merry as a cricket to-day,” said Natty Grove, who opened the cottage door when his friend knocked.

“Yes, as ‘erry as a kiket,” echoed flaxen-haired Nellie, who stood beside him.

“She’s always ‘erry,” said Jack, giving the little girl a gentle pull of the nose by way of expressing good will. “A merry Christmas both! How are you? See here, what mother has sent to old Nell.”

He opened the lid of the basket. Nattie and Nellie peeped in and snuffed.

“Oh! I say!” said the fisher-boy. He could say no more, for the sight and scent of apples, jelly, roast fowl, home-made pastry, and other things was almost too much for him.

“I expected it, dearie,” said old Nell, extending her withered hand to the boy as he set the basket on the table. “Every Christmas morning, for years gone by, she has sent me the same, though I don’t deserve it, and I’ve no claim on her but helplessness. But it’s the first time she has sent it by you, Jack. Come, I’ll tell ye a story.”

Jack was already open-eyed with expectancy and he was soon open-mouthed, forgetful of past and future, absorbed entirely in the present. Natty and Nelly were similarly affected and like-minded, while the little old woman swept them away to the wilds of Siberia, and told them of an escape from unjust banishment, of wanderings in the icy wilderness, and of starvation so dire that the fugitives were reduced to gnawing and sucking the leathern covers of their wallets for dear life. Then she told of food sent at the last moment, almost by miracle, and of hair-breadth escapes, and final deliverance. Somehow–the listeners could not have told how–old Nell inserted a reference to the real miracle of Jesus feeding the five thousand, and she worked round to it so deftly, that it seemed an essential part of the story; and so indeed it was, for Nell intended the key-stone of the arch of her story to be the fact that, when man is reduced to the last extremity God steps in to save.

It is certain that little Nellie did not understand the moral of the story, and it is uncertain how far the boys appreciated it; but it was old Nell’s business to sow the seed beside all waters, and leave the rest to Him who gave the command.

“Yes, dearies,” she said in conclusion, laying her hand on the basket, “I expected this gift this morning; but many a time does our Father in heaven send a blessin’ when an’ where we don’t expect it. Mind that–mind ye that.”

Jack had more than enough of mental food to digest that morning as he retraced his steps homeward through the deep snow; for he found that old Nell, not less than his mother, had treated him to a few puzzlers. Poor boy, he little knew as he plodded on that he was that day about to enter into one of the darkest clouds of his young life.

During his absence a letter had been received by his father, intimating that through the failure of a bank he was a ruined man. The shock had paralysed the farmer, and when Jack entered his home he found him lying on his bed in a state of insensibility, from which he could not be rallied. A few days later the old man died.