e box in his pocket, he went down to the stable, and
inquired more particularly in relation Joe's house.

When he had received such directions as would enable him to find the
place, he told Abner he wanted to be absent a little while, and left
the stable. He had no difficulty in finding the home of the drunkard's
family. It was a little, old wooden house, in Avery Street, opposite
Haymarket Place, which has long since been pulled down to make room
for a more elegant dwelling.

Harry knocked, and was admitted by the little lame girl whom he had
seen at the stable.

"I have come to see if I can do anything for you," said Harry, as he
moved forward into the room in which the family lived.

"Have you seen anything of father?" asked the little girl.

"I haven't; Abner says he hasn't been to the stable to-day. Haven't
you any lights?" asked Harry, as he entered the dark room.

"We haven't got any oil, nor any candles."

In the fireplace, a piece of pine board was blazing, which cast a
faint and fitful glare into the room; and Harry was thus enabled to
behold the scene which the miserable home of the drunkard presented.

In one corner was a dilapidated bedstead, on which lay the sick woman.
Drawn from under it was a trundle bed, upon which lay two small
children, who had evidently been put to bed at that early hour to keep
them warm, for the temperature of the apartment was scarcely more
comfortable than that of the open air. It was a cheerless home; and
the faint light of the blazing board only served to increase the
desolate appearance of the place.

"Who is it?" asked the sick woman, faintly.

"The boy that works at the stable," replied the lame girl.

"My name is Harry West, marm; and I come to see if you wanted
anything," added Harry.

"We want a great many things," sighed she. "Can you tell me where my
husband is?"

"I can't; he hasn't been at the stable to-day."

"Oh, God! what will become of us?" sobbed the woman.

"I will help you, marm. Don't take on so. I have money! and I will do
everything I can for you."

When her mother sobbed, the lame girl sat down on the bed and cried
bitterly. Harry's tender heart was melted; and he would have wept also
if he had not been conscious of the high mission he had to perform;
and he felt very grateful that he was able to dry up those tears and
carry gladness to those bleeding hearts.

"I don't know what you can do for us," said the poor woman, "though I
am su