"
Elizabeth meekly and in silence went to the pantry and cut a piece of
cake, which she carefully wrapped up and gave to Willie for his
mother. Willie received it with an humble and deprecatory look, as if
he felt the whole responsibility and weight of the reproof that had
fallen upon his cousin.
One Christmas eve, when Willie was above seven years old, the widow
and her son were sitting by the cottage hearth. The closed shutters,
drawn curtains, clean hearth and bright fire threw an air of great
comfort over the room. Mrs. Dulan sat at her little work-table,
setting the finishing stitches in a fine linen shirt, the last of a
dozen that she had been making for the doctor.
The snowstorm that had been raging all day long had subsided, though
occasionally the light and drifted snow would be blown up from the
ground by a gust of wind against the windows of the house. "Poor boy,"
said the widow, looking at her son, "you look tired and sleepy; go to
bed, Willie."
"Oh! dear mamma, I am not tired, and I could not sleep at all while
you are up alone and at work. Please let me stay up--but I will go to
bed if you say so," added he, submissively.
"Come and kiss me, darling.
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