moldering beneath. "But
don't tell me any more, think of the living that have got to be cared
for, and you'll have no time to lament the dead," and he chucked the
baby under the chin, and dandled it upon his fat knees, as if he had
been used to it all his life.

"It's the Lord will reward ye, sir, for looking after the fatherless and
widowed," said the woman, as she cast a thankful glance about the
cheerful room, and then upon the benevolent face before her. "There'll
be three witnesses for ye if ever we get to the blessed land, and sure
ye'll not need them either, I'm thinking!"

"Never mind, never mind," said the kind man; "I like to help them that
are trying to get up in the world, and you'll know where to find a
friend whenever you are in trouble--I'll look in upon you once in a
while to see how the children get on," and he handed her a card with the
number of his lodging upon it, saying as he went out the door,

"Don't forget to send for Peter Bond, when you need any thing."

"Blessings on his big soul!" says the poor woman, as his retreating
footsteps die upon the stairs. "It is like taking away the light, to
lose sight of his merry countenance!"

CHAPTER VI.

"Wake up, child," said the mother, giving Nannie a gentle shake; "the
sun's high in the heavens, and it's lazing we are in our blessed bed."

No wonder they pull the nice spread over them, and sink down again upon
the soft pillows, feeling that there could be no greater luxury on
earth. "But it must not make them idle," Mrs. Bates says, and so Nannie
jumps up and dresses the baby, while her mother prepares the breakfast.

Was there ever stove like that! There's a pleasant smell to the polish
as it burns off, and the wood has such a crackling, cheery sound; and
the hot steam from the Indian cakes sends forth an inviting odor as the
brown sides are turned upward.

Never mind if it is midsummer! the windows are open, and the superfluous
heat escapes, and the fresh air mingles with and tempers the warmth of
the room, so that it is nice and comfortable; it is so much better and
more wholesome than the damp, dark basement. There is a slight tinge
upon baby's cheek already, and Nannie doesn't look quite so pale and
sickly as she stands before the little mirror to brush her hair. "Oh!
an attic's the place, mother! isn't it?" says she, as she danced about
the room with Winnie. "We can breathe better up here, and Winnie'll grow
stout and healthy, for