FullReads

The company at last assembled, and the hours had passed away until it was nine o’clock. Without, all was cold, bleak, and cheerless. Within, there was the perfection of comfort.

Little William had been absent for some time, but no one missed him. Just as a large company were engaged in the various ways of passing time, dancing, chatting, and partaking of refreshments, the room door opened, and in came Master Billy, dragging in by the hand, a little barefoot fellow about his own age, with nothing on but a clean, well-patched shirt, and a pair of linen trowsers. Without heeding the company, he pulled him up to the glowing grate, and in the fulness of his young benevolent heart, cried out,

“Here’s fire, Charley! Warm yourself, old fellow! Hurrah! I guess I’ve fixed Miss Sarah now.” And the little fellow clapped his hands as innocently and as gracefully, as if there had been no one in the room but himself and Charley.

All was agreeable and curious confusion in a few minutes, and scores crowded around the poor child with a lively interest, who, an hour before would have passed him in the street unnoticed.

“Why, Willy! what does all this mean?” exclaimed the father, after something like order had been restored.

“Why, pa, you see, this is Charley Warburton,” began the little fellow, holding the astonished Charley by the hand, and presenting him quite ceremoniously to his father. “Doctor H–came here to-day, and told ma that his mother was sick next door, and that they had no wood. So ma tells Sarah to send John in with some wood, and to go in herself and see if they wanted anything. So Sarah goes and tells John to go and take some wood in. But John he wa’nt going to go, till I told him that if he didn’t go I would, and if I went 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.”