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The owner of the mill was a kind-hearted man, and this little incident touched his feelings.

“You are not big enough to work in the mill, my child,” said he, kindly.

“I’m nine years old,” replied Emma, quickly.

“Oh yes! I can work as well as anybody. Do let me come in George’s place! Won’t you?”

Emma had not been gone very long before she was missed. Her mother had become quite alarmed about her, when she heard sleigh-bells at the door, and, looking out, saw the owner of the mill and her child. Wondering what this could mean, she went out to meet them.

“This little runaway of yours,” said the man, in a pleasant voice, “came trudging over to the mill this morning, through the snow, and wanted to take the place of George, who was so badly hurt yesterday, in order that you might get, as she said, a dollar and a half every week.”

“Why, Emma!” exclaimed her mother, as she lifted her from the sleigh. “How could you do so? You are not old enough to work in your brother’s place.”

“Besides,” said the man, “there is no need of your doing so; for George shall have his dollar and a half, the same as ever, until he is able to go to work again. So then, my little one, set your heart at rest.”

Emma understood this very well, and bounded away into the house to take the good news to her brother, who was as much rejoiced as herself. After inquiring about George, and repeating to Mrs. Foster what he had said to Emma, he told her that he would pay the doctor for attending the lad, so that the accident needn’t prove a burden to her.

The heart of Mrs. Foster lifted itself, thankfully, as she went back into the house.

“Don’t scold her, mother,” said George. “She thought she was doing right.”

This appeal, so earnestly made, quite broke down the feelings of Mrs. Foster, and she went quickly into another room, and closing the door after her, sat down by the bedside, and, burying her face in a pillow, suffered her tears to flow freely. Scold the child! She felt more like taking her in her arms, and hugging her passionately to her bosom.

To know that the small income her boy’s labour had produced was not to be cut off, proved a great relief to the mind of Mrs. Foster; but, in a little while, her thoughts went back to the landlord’s threat and the real distress and hopelessness of their situation. To the period of her husband’s return she looked with no feeling of hope; but, rather, with a painful certainty, that his appearance would be the signal for the landlord to put his threat into execution.

Sadly the days went by, each one bringing nearer the time towards which the unhappy woman now looked forward with a feeling of dread. That the landlord would keep his promise, she did not, for an instant, doubt. Without their cow, how could she, with all her exertions, feed her children? No wonder that her heart was troubled.

At last the day before the opening year came.

“Papa will be home to-morrow,” said Emma. “I wonder what he will bring me for a New Year’s gift.”

“I wish he would bring me a book,” said George.

“I’d like a pair of new shoes,” remarked the little girl, more soberly, looking down at her feet, upon which were tied, with coarse strings, what were called shoes, but hardly retained their semblance. “And mamma wants shoes, too,” added the child. “Oh! I wish papa would bring her, for a New Year’s gift, a nice new pair of shoes.”

The mother heard her children talking, and sighed to think how vain were all their expectations.

“I wish we had a turkey for father’s New Year’s dinner,” said Emma.

“And some mince pies!” spoke up little Hetty, the youngest, clapping her hands. “Why don’t we have mince pies, mamma?” she said, taking hold of her mother’s apron and looking up at her.