but within the sound of the whirling wheels, he sat down with his
uncomplaining sister upon his knee. The snow began to fall gently at
first, and he watched it as the feathery flakes grew larger and larger.
He did not feel cold now; he wrapped his little scarf around his
sister's neck. The snow fell still thicker: he felt so weary, so very
weary; his little sister too had fallen asleep on his breast;--he laid
his head against the cold stone wall, and the snow still fell, so
softly, so very gently, that he dozed away and dreamed of sunny lands
where all was bright and warm: and in a short time the passer-by could
not have told that a brother and sister lay quietly slumbering there,
wrapped in their shroud of snow.

The hum of wheels has ceased; the crowd of labourers hurry out to their
morning's meal; a few short minutes, and the discordant whistles again
shriek out their call to work. Tom and Susy, where are they? The gates
will soon be closed again!

Well, let them close! other gates have opened for those little suffering
ones. The gates of pearl have swung upon their golden hinges; no harsh
voice of unkind taskmaster greets them on their entrance, but that
glorious welcome.

"Come, ye blessed!" and their unloosed tongues join in the loud
"Hosannah."

But those pearly gates are not for ever open. The time may come when
those shall stand before them unto whom the words, "Inasmuch as ye did
it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me," shall sound
the death-knell of all hopes throughout an inconceivable eternity.

CHAPTER II.

It is night, and the wind is sighing itself away. The snow has ceased to
fall, and the moon looks down upon the hills in their spotless covering,
shedding her soft, mild light upon all. The little cottage on the hill
side would be imperceptible, were it not for the light that streams
through the window and the open door. The church clock has just struck
eight, and for nearly an hour a woman has stood looking towards the
town, her anxiety increasing every moment. She listens to the sound of
feet on the crisp snow--they come nearer--they are opposite the turn
that leads to the cottage: but they pass on. Again and again she
listens:--once or twice she fancies she sees two children in the
distance--but they come not. Passersby become less frequent; again the
church clock chimes, and all is still. Her husband and her babe are
asleep. Quickly putting on her bonnet and shawl, she r