work, and could but say to himself, "It is all loose ends, loose ends.
What a web for eternity!"

"Supper is ready," said Mrs. Graffam, and the poor man turned toward
the table. The white loaf was there, and a basin of the berries his
little ones had picked from the plain. In a solitary cup (for it was
the only one saved from their wreck of crockery) Graffam saw his tea,
and offered to exchange with his wife for the broken mug, into which
was poured a scanty portion for herself.

"No, thank you," said she, "this is very well;" and they were seated at
the table.

It was upon the whole a cheerful meal. It seemed as though each one had
been a long journey, and had just returned; they were pleased with each
other, and talked of old acquaintances, and other days, themes upon
which they had held no converse for a long, long time past.

As their supper was finished, the little one in the cradle moaned
again, and Mrs. Graffam brought from the basket a long flannel dress,
and put it upon "wee bit," gently rubbing its blue limbs; then, with
something of the freedom and confidence of other days, she laid poor
baby upon its father's knee, and going again to the friendly basket,
brought thence a bottle, from which she dropped a little fine-flavored
cordial into warm water. The babe opened its large eyes upon its
mother, as though wondering what it could be that was so good upon its
poor little tongue and lip; then rubbing its tiny hands up and down the
flannel dress, it looked smilingly into the father's face, and uttered
an expressive "goo!" The parent was not quite dead in that father's
heart, though long buried beneath the waves of selfish indulgence. He