"The factory bells had just ceased ringing, and the whistles had given
out their last shrieks, like the expiring yells of some agonized demon,
as the old church clock drowsily tolled the hour of six, on one of the
most miserable of December mornings. High on a bleak hill stood a little
whitewashed cottage, from the door of which issued two children,
apparently about ten years of age. As they stept into the cold morning
air they shuddered, and drew their scanty garments closer around them.

"Nah, yo'll ha' to luk sharp! yond's th' last whew!--yo've nobbut
fifteen minutes," cried a voice from within.

It was with great difficulty that the little couple succeeded in
reaching the high road, for the ground was covered with ice, on which a
continual sleet fell, and the wind, in fitful blasts, howled about them,
threatening at almost every step to overthrow them. But they had no time
to think of these things; slipping and running, giving each other all
the aid in their power, they pressed on in the direction of the
factory--the fear of being too late over-whelming every other
consideration.

"Come on, Susy!" said the little lad, whom we should take to be the
older of the two. "Come on, we shall niver be thear i' time; come on!
stand up! tha hasn't hurt thi, has ta?" he said, as she fell for the
third time upon the slippery pavement.

Tenderly he helped her to rise, but poor Susy had hurt herself, and
although she strove to keep back her tears and smother her sobs, Tom saw
that she had sustained a severe injury.

"Whisht!" he said, "tha munnot cry; whear ar ta hurt? Come, lain o' me,