HAVE PATIENCE.





IT was Saturday evening, about eight o clock. Mary Gray had finished
mangling, and had sent home the last basket of clothes. She had
swept up her little room, stirred the fire, and placed upon it a
saucepan of water. She had brought out the bag of oatmeal, a basin,
and a spoon, and laid them upon the round deal table. The place,
though very scantily furnished, looked altogether neat and
comfortable. Mary now sat idle by the fire. She was not often idle.'
She was a pale, delicate-looking woman, of about five-and-thirty.
She looked like ones who had worked beyond her strength, and her
thin face had a very anxious, careworn expression. Her dress showed
signs of poverty, but it was scrupulously clean and neat. As it grew
later, she seemed to be listening attentively for the approach of
some one; she was ready to start up every time a step came near her
door. At length a light step approached, and did not go by it; it
stopped, and there was a gentle tap at the door. Mary's pallid face
brightened, and in a moment she had let in a fine,
intelligent-looking lad, about thirteen years of age, whom she
welcomed with evident delight.

"You are later than usual to-night, Stephen," she said.

Stephen did not reply; but he threw off his cap, and placed himself
in the seat Mary had quitted.