"Yaas, ther's suthin' in't," assented Captain Peregrine. And he smoked on in silence.

Meanwhile the child, who was so small that even Mr. Metcalf's modest bundles were more than he could conveniently carry, was trudging laboriously through the snow, wishing himself at home, and thinking that his mother would worry over his absence. She had long hesitated about sending him forth; but, being in absolute need of food, she had suffered the child to go. And now he was thoughtful enough to remember her anxiety.

So through the blowing snow and the piling drifts he manfully trudged. But it was hard work for the little fellow, and after a short time he could make no headway at all. His hands were numb and stiff, and several times he fell headlong, spilling his bundles and their contents. Then, wearied out with his fruitless endeavors, he resigned all hope and began to cry. It was this that attracted the notice of the stranger, floundering about in the drifts a hundred feet away. Then the child felt himself lifted from the ground by a strong arm and heard a cheerful voice saying, "It's all right; we'll soon be at home. Oh, never mind the bundles!"

The boy looked in wonderment.

"Now you just show me the way to your mother's, and I'll be legs for you."

Taking confidence, the boy directed his new-found friend, and, after a fifteen-minutes fight with the storm, they came to the battered and shabby little cottage. The boy was for running right in, but the stranger held him back. "No, let's take a look first," said he.

So they crept up to the window, and looked in. A gray-haired woman was sitting alone before the fire in an easy-chair. That she was far from comfortable, bodily or mentally, was evident from her nervous glances about the room, in particular at the face of a slow and respectable old-fashioned tall clock in the corner. The room was plainly, indeed barely, furnished. A single kerosene lamp burned dimly on the table.

"God help the poor woman, how she has suffered! Jacob Hannam, there's an indictment against you! Come, child!"

Then the two broke in through the door, all covered with snow from head to foot, quite startling the widow, who gazed in blank wonderment at the stranger and his load. Finally she found breath to ask, -

"Where are the things, Jamie?"

His brow clouded. "I had an orful time - I - I -"

"Eliza Hannam!" said a voice.

There was a moment's pause. And then Jamie was very much surprised to see this strange man embracing the poor widow, she crying and laughing upon his shoulder.

"To think how you must have suffered all these years!" he kept exclaiming. "And, Jamie, won't you speak a word of greeting to your Uncle John?"

It was a long time before quiet was restored; not till after Mr. Nahum Metcalf's boy had come with a whole cart-load of good things. "And there is my last pair of chickens all ready dressed for the morrow's dinner!" declared the widow with a laugh that was half a sob.

A commonplace story enough, this Posett episode turns out to be, no doubt; that on Christmas Eve the long-absent John Bond returned to his sister, to find her poor, to make her comfortable and happy, despite wretched old Jacob Hannam. Posett people despised the latter more than ever, after this.

Some people may think that "peace on earth, good-will to men" ought to come to the poorest, on one sacred night, even if a little child wander through the darkness and the storm to find it.

FR.