Time passed on; one, two, or three years, are quickly passed and gone. Though this little space of time made little or no change in the families of the proud and indolent relatives, it brought many changes in the eventful life of the young artizan and his wife. Two sweet little babes nestled in the mother's arms, and a new and splendid invention of the poor mechanic was reaping the wonder and admiration of all Europe and America. This was salt cast upon the affected wounds of the haughty relatives. Now ashamed of their petty, poor, contemptible arrogance, they could not in their hearts find space to welcome or partake of the proud dignity with which honorable industry had crowned the labors of the young mechanic. It was a cold day in November; the wind was twirling and whistling through the trees on the Common; the dead leaves were dropping seared and yellow to the earth, admonishing the old gentleman whom we left drumming upon the window, that-- "_Such was life!_" The old gentleman thumped and thumped the window pane with a dreary _sotto voce_ accompaniment for some minutes, when he was interrupted by an aged, pious-looking matron, who dropped her spectacles across the book in her lap, as she sat in her chair by the fireside, and said-- "Joel." "Umph?" responded the old gentleman. "The Lord has spared us to see another Thanksgiving day, should we live to see to-morrow." "He has," responded Mr. Newschool. "I've been thinking, Joel, that how ungrateful to God we are, for the blessings, and prosperity, and long life vouchsafed to us, by a good and benevolent Almighty." "Rebecca," said the faltering voice of the rich man, "I know, I feel all this as sensitive as you can possibly feel it." "I was thinking, Joel," continued the good woman, "to-morrow we shall, God permitting, be with our children and friends once again, together." "I hope so, I trust we shall," answered the husband. "And I was thinking, Joel," resumed the wife, "that the exclusion of our own child, Cecelia, from the family re-unions, from joining us in returning thanks to God for his mercy and preservation of us, is cruel and offensive to Him we deign to render up our prayers." "Rebecca," said the old gentleman, "I but agree with you in this, you have but anticipated my feelings in the matter. I have long fought against my better feelings and offended a discriminating God, I know. Ashamed to confess my stubbornness and frailty before, I now freely confess an altered feeling and better determination." "Then, Joel, let our daughter Cecelia and her husband join with us to-morrow in rendering our thanks to a just God and kind Providence." "Be it so, Rebecca. God truly knows it will be a millstone relieved from my heart. I wish it done."