"You both of you go near to break my heart," replied the old man huskily, as he knelt down, and took the old shabby boot in his hand. "Miss Queenie, dear, this is not right; you will lay yourself up, and then what will Emmie do? Where is the money I gave you last time you were here, when I begged and prayed you to get a new pair?" "She bought ever so many things for me," broke in Emmie again. "No, I won't hush, Queenie," as her sister vainly strove to silence her. "I said I would tell Caleb, and I will. I have warm flannels, and gloves, and mittens, and Queenie has nothing; and she is so cold that she never gets warm all day; and Cathy says it is a shame." "Oh, Miss Queenie, Miss Queenie," was all Caleb's answer, as the old fingers fumbled and bungled over their work. Perhaps it was an unusually large pinch of snuff that dimmed his eyes for a moment, and that obliged him to have recourse to the red spotted silk handkerchief. Queenie was used to be waited upon by her kind old friend. She allowed her cold feet to be encased in a pair of list slippers that Molly had made for Caleb. A pleasant feeling of warmth and comfort began to steal over her, a luxurious sense of being cared for. Emmie had already installed herself at the tea-tray, and was holding the tea-pot carefully with both hands; her work was cut out for her for the evening. She had to make tea for Caleb and Queenie, and then fill Caleb's pipe, and sit at his knee and chatter to him of all they had been doing; then she had to visit Molly in her nice clean kitchen, and play with Sukey and her kittens. How she longed for a kitten in the old garret in Granite Lodge, only Queenie shook her head at the bare idea. To-night Molly was ironing her master's shirts, and Emmie's visit was paid earlier than usual, that she might help her by washing up the tea-things, a piece of play-work that was charming to the little girl. As soon as she had left them, Caleb put down his pipe, and drew his chair closer to Queenie, and laid his wrinkled hand on hers. "Well, my dear, well! and how has the world been treating you lately?" for the quiet, thoughtful face he had been watching all the evening seemed to him to have grown sadder since he last saw it. "You must not ask me, my dear old friend," returned the girl, sorrowfully; "I have been losing heart lately." "Nay, nay, that's bad hearing." "One must speak the truth. I have lost not only heart, but courage. If it were not for Emmie I could battle on; I am strong and tough enough for anything, but she makes me weak." "Nay, surely." "Do not misunderstand me,"--as the kind old hand stroked hers gently,--"I could not bear you to do that. I am weak, I do not complain, I am young and healthy, and a little hardness will not hurt me; but it is for Emmie I fear. Caleb," in an almost inaudible voice, "what they make me suffer through her!" "I know it, I know it," rubbing up his grey hair restlessly.