find our boy?"

Dreading to alarm her, Mr. Bancroft didn't mention his fears, but with a
heavy heart put on his hat, and again went into the street, his wife
returning to the library convulsed with sobs.

Where could he go but to the nearest station-house, thought Ned's
anxious father, and started thither; but when he reached the corner of
the street he turned round again, disliking the idea of going far from
the house where it was most natural to see the boy.

"I will go back and examine his playthings. He has always been an
orderly child. I can easily tell whether he has used any of them this
afternoon."

Once more he entered the door, and went directly to Ned's room. The
spelling-book was in its place, but his overcoat and hat were not to be
found. The box of playthings was next examined. It was open, showing Ned
had been there, and his little shovel was missing.

Why he immediately went into the yard, Mr. Bancroft could afterward
never tell. It must have been a good fairy that led him to the back
door, where he stood a few seconds looking out into the darkness,
longing for a sight of the little face which always welcomed him home.

It must have been the same fairy that moved him to walk to the back of
the yard, where a black spot in the snow attracted his attention. His
heart gave a leap: it was Ned's shovel. And what was that faint moaning
sound that came to his ears? Was Eva in any distress in the next yard?
He listened.

"Papa! oh, papa! I'm here, under the snow!"

"Ned, my boy, where are you?"

"Here, papa, under the snow."

With the same little shovel the father now worked with all his might,
cheering his child by the continued sound of his voice, saying, "Papa
will take you out in a minute. Be a brave boy. Papa will soon get you."

Mrs. Bancroft, who was waiting in-doors, heard, as she thought, persons
talking in the yard, and opened the library window, when her husband
called to her: "Send some one here to help me! Be quick; Ned is here
under the snow."

Jane overheard, and rushed out with her coal shovel, and began to dig
with the strength and energy of a man, and crying, "Me darlint, me
darlint, is it here ye are?"

When at last the brave little fellow felt the loving arms of his father
tight about him, he simply whispered, "Oh, papa, I'm so glad you came!"

Can any of my young readers imagine with what happiness both father and
mother kissed and hugged their cold and stiff little darling?