Time went on, and low as we were we were still going down hill steadily and surely. It is a long hill, and there are many depths in it. Work grew slack, and in the struggle to make both ends meet, my mother was frequently worsted; there was often a great gap between. I do not wonder that hearts sometimes crack in that endeavour. Yet my mother ('by hook and by crook,' as I have heard her say merrily) generally managed in the course of the week to scrape together some few coins which, jealously watched and jealously spent, sufficed in a poor way to keep body and soul together. How it was managed is a mystery to me. The winter came on: a hard winter. Bread went up in price; every additional halfpenny on a four-pound loaf was a dagger in my mother's breast. We rubbed through this hard time somehow, and Christmas glided by and the new year came upon us. A cold spring set in, and work, which had been getting slacker and slacker, could not now be obtained. Still my mother did not lie down and yield. She tried other shops, and received a little work--very little--at odd times. There came a very hard week, and my mother was much distressed. On the Friday night I heard her murmuring to herself in her sleep as I thought, and I fancied I heard her sob. I called to her, but she did not answer me. Her breath rose and fell in regular rhythm. Yes, she was asleep, and the sob I thought I heard was born of my fancy. I was thankful for that! CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH A FAIRY IN A COTTON-PRINT DRESS IS INTRODUCED. The next day was Saturday, and my mother went out early in the morning, and returned at two o'clock with the saddest of faces. 'No work, mother?' I asked. 'No, my dear,' she replied; 'but come, my child, you must be hungry.' There was little enough to eat, but my boy's appetite, and the cunning way my mother had of placing our humble fare before me, made the plain food as sweet as the best. I noticed that she ate nothing, and I tried to persuade her to eat. 'I have no appetite, my dear,' she said, and added in reply to my sorrowful look, 'My little boy doesn't know what I've had while I was out this morning.' Deeper thought than usual seemed to occupy her mind during the afternoon, and she suddenly started up, and hurriedly threw on her bonnet and shawl. 'Are you going to try again, mother?' 'Yes, my darling; I must try again.' She did not return until late, but she returned radiant, and said, as she took my face between her two hands, and kissed me: 'Child, dear child! God bless those who help the poor!' She did not bid me repeat the words; but some deep meaning in her voice impelled me to do so, and I said in a solemn tone, what the words seemed to demand, 'God bless those who help the poor!'