Life was not at all sunshine; the children had their faults which would occasionally show themselves; but the parents, conscious of their own imperfections, were patient and forbearing. They were sometimes tried with sickness too, but it was borne with cheerful resignation; and no one could say what the future held in store for any of them; but God reigned, the God whom they had chosen as their portion, and their inheritance forever, and they left all with him, striving to obey the command to be without carefulness. The winter passed quietly, almost without incident save one. Eddie had been spending the afternoon with his cousins at Pinegrove (some of them were lads near his own age, and fine, intelligent, good boys), had stayed to tea and was riding home alone, except that he had an attendant in the person of a young negro boy, who rode some yards in his rear. It was already dark when they started, but the stars shone down from a clear sky, although a keen, cold wind blew from the north. Part of the way lay through a wood, in the midst of which stood a hut occupied by a family by the name of Smith, belonging to the class known as "poor whites"; shiftless, lazy, and consequently very poor indeed, they were. Many efforts had been put forth in their behalf, by the families of the Oaks and Ion, and by others also, but thus far with small results, for it is no easy matter to effectually help those who will not try to help themselves. As Eddie entered the wood, he thought he smelt smoke, and presently a sudden turn in the road brought into view the dwelling of the Smiths all wrapped in flames. Putting spurs to his horse, at the sight, Eddie flew along the road shouting at the top of his lungs, "Fire! fire! fire!" Jim, his attendant, following his example. But there was no one within hearing, save the Smiths themselves. The head of the family, half stupefied with rum, stood leaning against the fence, his hands in the pockets of his ragged coat, a pipe in his mouth, gazing in a dazed sort of way upon the work of destruction; while the wife and children ran hither and thither, screaming and wringing their hands with never a thought of an attempt to extinguish the flames or save any of their few poor possessions. "Sam Smith," shouted Eddie, reining in his horse close to the individual addressed, "why don't you drop that old pipe, take your hands out of your pockets, and go to work to put out the fire!" "Eh!" cried Sam, turning slowly round so as to face his interlocutor, "why--I--I--I couldn't do nothin'; it's bound to go--that house is; don't you see how the wind's a blowin'? Well, 'tain't much 'count nohow, and I wouldn't care, on'y she says she's left the baby in there; so she does." "The baby?" and almost before the words had left his lips, Eddie had cleared the rough rail fence at a bound, and was rushing toward the burning house. How the flames crackled and roared, seeming like demons greedily devouring all that came in their way.