tened them on by bits of wire. The
other articles, together with some matches, he placed in a little
basket of his own, and then putting his green branch under his coat,
thrusting the shoes he had made for little Ned in his pocket, and
carrying those intended for Mrs. Bradley in his hand, he set forth up
Broadway, not envying one individual of the splendidly dressed crowd
that was thronging the great thoroughfare.

He found Mrs. Bradley in the kitchen, fully occupied in all the
mysteries of boiling, baking, and stewing, preliminary to the setting
down of a country Christmas supper. A large plate of mince-pies,
flanked by smaller ones filled with cakes of various shapes and sizes,
stood temptingly conspicuous on the table. Sausages were frying in a
pan on the store, and a large coffee-pot sent forth its steam, at once
savoury and inviting. "I am glad you have brought the shoes, Bill,"
said the good woman, continuing to bustle about; "your master is
certainly very punctual, and his shoes last as long again as those you
buy. I suppose you do not have much Christmas doings at your house--I
am so busy just now; a whole tribe of country cousins have come down
the river to spend the holidays, and I am bustling to get the supper
over. But what have you there under your coat?"

"Well, now, Bill," said she, when William told her, "if you ain't a
good boy there is no such thing in the world. Open your basket, and I
will give you something for the old woman and your young ones too."

A sausage or two, a pie, some tarts, and sundry other good things,
were speedily transferred to William's basket, and with such unsparing
hand, that it was filled to overflowing--in that respect resembling
the heart of our little shoemaker, which was now filled with delight.
He forgot that he was suffering from bodily ailment, that the past had
been dark and comfortless, that on the morrow no new cheering was to
be expected, but his sole enjoyment would be the remembrance of the
transient gleam of sunshine now falling on his gloomy path. He tried
to speak his thanks, but she would not listen. "It is nothing," she
said; "we have to work hard, but still we have plenty, and why should
we not give to others who have so little, and are not able to earn?
Now do go along about your business, Bill, and let me take up the
supper, for the chicken is stewing to rags;" and, quite as happy
herself as she had made the orphan boy, she proceeded to finish her
culin