“Yes, carry him over a good load Scipio, the moment you have swallowed your breakfast. Such a morning as this without wood.” Madam added—“And you shall carry him some stores to make him comfortable. That makes me think of poor Cluff—I am afraid he is out of every thing by this time—he must have suffered last night. I ought to have seen to him before—poor creature! how could I have neglected him so? I might have known it was coming on cold, from its being so warm yesterday.” Mr. Fayerweather endeavored to persuade her that Cluff could scarcely have consumed the provisions she sent him on Christmas, but she continued to reproach herself until he told her that he was obliged to go out in the sleigh as soon as breakfast was over, and that he would go down himself and see that the old man was comfortable and was well taken care of. The worthy gentleman finished his meal and the sleigh was ordered out, but the hard cough of the old horse as the cutting air struck him on being led out of his warm stable, reached his kind master’s ear and found its way to his heart. “Poor old Moses!” he said, “it would be hard to take you out such a day as this, it might be your death—I’ll walk. I shall be all the better for it.” So saying, he lost no time in hurrying on his roquelaure, and set out on a brisk pace, to avoid the expostulations of his wife, who had gone to look out some flannels to send Primus. As he passed by Mr. Wendell’s, his niece having seen him from the window, was at the door to accost him. “Why, uncle! where are you going this bitter morning? Do come in.” “Don’t stop me now, child, I’m in haste; perhaps I’ll drop in as I come back,” he said; then as he shook his finger at little Will, who was hanging on his mother’s apron, he gave them both a look so brimful of kindness and affection and something beyond both, as went to her very heart. That look Amy never forgot.