The poor man hesitated. He was really hungry; for that which had proved
to him both victuals and drink, was now wanting; but he feared to speak
of his hunger, lest his wife should say, "The children have no rum to
drink, and it takes all the food _I_ can supply, to keep them from
starving."

"Here is a nice loaf of bread," continued Mrs. Graffam, cheerfully, as
she took the things from the basket, "and a paper of tea; Miss Emma
could not have intended these for poor little Sammy: so, if you please,
Mr. Graffam, just light a fire under the kettle, and I will make you a
cup of tea."

"And a cup for yourself," said Graffam, as he lighted the dry sticks in
the large stone chimney, and then peered into the corners of the room
in search of his children.

"They are all asleep," said his wife; and the poor man turned quickly
toward the fire again, for he feared that she would add, "The poor
creatures have been out upon the plains all day: Heaven knows what we
shall do when the berries are gone." But Mrs. Graffam said nothing
more. She set out the pine table, and going to an old chest brought a
white cloth; it was of bird's-eye diaper. Graffam remembered well who
wove it; and a pleasant vision came along with that white table-cloth.
He saw his mother, as in olden times, weaving; while he stood by her
side, wondering at the skill with which she sent the shuttle through
its wiry arch, and noticing how the little matter of adding thread to
thread filled the "cloth beam" little by little, until the long "web"
was done. "Such is life," thought Graffam; "the little by little of
human action goes to fill up the warp of time, and decides the worth of
what we manufacture for eternity." Then he looked sadly over his own