"Under the pudding, which had been wrapped up in a whole newspaper, lay an old jacket, a comforter, a worn pair of trousers, and a frock for the girl of ten. Last of all was a piece of stout paper on which someone (Hugh Headley I think) had painted these words: 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' "On the back of this was written, 'Please pin this up on the wall for a Christmas text.' "The eldest boy produced two or three nails, and had put it over the mantelshelf before they could say a word, and then, as the mother reminded them the pudding would come all the sooner for going to bed, they took her advice and disappeared, all but the big boy, who hung behind to say, 'I'm mortal hungry, mother, I suppose you ain't got a crust?' "Half an hour before she would have answered 'no' hastily enough, but there were tears in her eyes as she handed him the bit of bread which was to have served for her supper, as she said: "'I'm sorry, boy, it's all so short, but you know what yer boots cost last week, and you can't have everything.' "'Good-night, mother,' he said, stooping to give her a rough kiss; 'but it _is_ hard to be hungry.' "When the little door had closed upon her children the mother sat down in a chair with her hands drooping in her lap. Then she wiped away the unwonted tears as she looked round at the package on the table, and then back at the bright text in front of her. It was that text which had softened her heart, and made her cry. It was that text which had suddenly reminded her of old days when she had thought more of these things than she did now. "'Come unto Me, all ye that are heavy laden.' "The tired, worried, over-wrought mother buried her face in her hands. Long she sat and wept. "'I thought He had forgotten me,' she whispered. And then she rose up and made the room ready for the father, repeating softly to herself all the while, 'I will give you rest, I will give you rest.' "After some time, much later than she had expected, the well-known footstep was heard at the door. "The mother knew before the father entered that the foot bore a more cheerful sound than had been of late, and his words corroborated her thought. "'Well, wife, so here you are all alone! Why, so they're all gone to roost!' "To get the sooner to Christmas-day," answered the mother, her eyes falling, as his did, on the table scattered over with the things they had received. "They needed very little explanation, and meanwhile the father was fumbling in his pocket for something, which he now laid on the table by his wife. "'That's my share for to-morrow,' he said. 'I stayed out all these hours on the chance of a job, and at last I got one. A gentleman couldn't get a cab nohow, everything's engaged on this wet night, to say nought of its being Christmas; so I carried his heavy portmanteau nigh on four miles, and he gave me this half-crown. And now I want my supper, wife.'