room on your floor for a shake-down, eh? This is my
sister," he added turning to the girl, "Mary Thorogood, but we always
call her Molly. She has come to visit me this Christmas--much against
her will, I believe, she's so fond of the old folk at home. Come now,
take her into your room, Molly; make her comfortable, and then we'll
have tea."

Molly took the girl into her room. Returning a moment later for
something forgotten, she was touched on the shoulder by her brother, who
whispered low in her ear:--

"A brand, Molly dear, plucked from the burning."

Molly turned her eyes upon her brother with a glad smile as she
re-entered her little room, and shut the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Twelve months passed away, and Christmas came again, with its frost and
snow and sunshine--its blazing fires, its good cheer, and its merry
greetings.

Many a Christmastide had now passed over the head of our blacksmith,
John Thorogood, and his excellent wife Mary, but Time had touched them
lightly in its flight. They both looked young and hale, and full of
vigour. The only difference in them was a wrinkle or two at the corners
of the eyes, and a few grey hairs mingling with the brown. Perhaps John
was a little more corpulent than when he was a youth; but he could wield
the fore-hammer as easily and powerfully as ever.

A cloud, however, had been gathering over their happy home during the
past year. Molly--the sweet active girl who had never known a day's
illness from her childhood--had fallen into bad health. Her step had
lost its spring, but her cheerful spirit was unsubdued.

"You're better to-day, Molly darling?" asked the smith, in a tone which
showed he was not sure of the answer.

"Yes, father, much better." Molly did not use endearing terms, but the
sweetness of her looks and voice rendered such needless.

She was pale and thin, and could not check the touch of sadness in her
tones.

"Fred is sure to come, darling," said Mrs Thorogood, stopping in her
preparations for supper to smooth her daughter's fair head.

"Oh yes, mother, I know that Fred is sure to come," returned Molly, with
a laugh and a little blush. "No fear of _him_. I was not thinking of
him, but of Jim. It is the first Christmas we shall have spent without
him. Dear Jim! I wonder what company he will have to spend it with him
in the backwoods."

"Whatever company it may be," returned the mother, "they'll only have
his body and mind--his sp