fold-ing her in his arms, rush-ed down the friend-ly hands, and pla-ced
her, unharm-ed, in the em-brace of her des-pair-ing fa-ther.

* * * * *

A hea-vi-ly la-den wag-gon creaks along the wind-ing road, co-ver-ed
with a tilt as white as snow; but what has it in-side? You can peep and
see: beau-ti-ful ta-bles and chairs, and sides of ba-con, and geese and
chick-ens, and fair round chees-es, and rolls of gold-en but-ter, with
white eggs peep-ing through the bars of their wick-er pris-on. Where is
the wag-gon go-ing? To mar-ket, per-haps: ask the youth who is trudg-ing
by its side, with a smil-ing, hap-py face, rud-dy with health and the
warm tinge of the sun.

[Illustration: THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN.]

Why, I de-clare that it is Wil-lie, grown quite stout and strong! Where
is he go-ing with that well-stored wag-gon, which real-ly has no hor-ses
to draw it, and yet it goes for-ward at a pret-ty pace? Why, I do
be-lieve that the gi-ant hands are drag-ging it along!

It is Wil-lie, in-deed; and, joy-ous mo-ment! he is go-ing home. In his
pock-et he has much bright sil-ver, the pro-duce of his la-bour: the
con-tents of the wag-gon shows the farm-er's gra-ti-tude to Wil-lie for
his promp-ti-tude, en-er-gy, and in-dus-try; and, more than all, for his
risk-ing his life to save that of his dar-ling child.

At last the cot-tage path is reach-ed. His mo-ther is stand-ing at the
gate: Wil-lie shouts; such a heart-y shout! His mo-ther looks up-on him,
but can-not speak: he is soon in her arms.