e had gone, all the
brutality which had been divided between the mother and son, was now
visited on the innocent head of little Maggie; and unassisted even by
counsel, she had to perform all the household tasks. If she had received
kind words in payment, she could have overlooked many of the hardships
of her condition; but these she never got. Let her be as diligent and
pains taking as she would, severity and reproaches were all she met:
Jackson was always sullen and morose in the morning, and at night,
frequent potations from a large stone jug worked him up to a passion.
Then he would knock the furniture about, throw chairs at Margaret's head
if she came in his way, and swear in such a dreadful manner that the
little girl was glad to seek shelter in her cold and cheerless loft,
where at least she could be alone, and could pray to the One Friend she
had left.

As the winter advanced, the child's sufferings greatly increased. The
cold was intense, the situation a bleak one, and the old farm-house full
of cracks and crannies which admitted the winter winds. Her clothing was
of a thin description, and nearly worn out by hard usage: at night also,
in her airy loft, she was often kept awake by the cold, or cried herself
to sleep. But the more severe the weather was, the more did Jackson
think it needful to take something a little warming, and the stone jug
was frequently replenished: of course his temper became more violent,
and Margaret was the sufferer. She kept out of the way as much as
possible, but had no place to which she could retreat, except her loft.
Here she would frequently solace herself by bringing out her medallion,
which, according to her mother's directions, she wore next her heart,
and gazing upon the beloved countenances of her parents--this dying gift
was the only relic she had left of former times. One day a snow-storm
set in, which reminded her of those she had seen among her own Scottish
hills, where the drifts are so great that the shepherd frequently loses
his life in returning to his distant home. The wind was piercing, and
the snow was so driven about that you could scarcely see a few feet
before you; and by evening it lay in deep piles against the door, and
around the house. Jackson had of course resorted to the whiskey jug very
frequently during the day, for consolation; and little Margaret, seeing
him more than usually excited, had sought refuge in the cold and dismal
loft, wrapping herself up a