The old woman had her spectacles on, and her withered fingers were busy with a child’s shoe. They trembled a good deal, and seemed scarcely able to force her needle through the tough leather, which broke away from her stitches with crisp obstinacy. Still she toiled on, striving to close a great rent in the side of the shoe, till a stronger pull at the thread tore the leather half across the instep, and rendered her task utterly hopeless. That good old creature dropped the shoe to her lap, sighed heavily, and, turning her eyes on the sunset, softened into patient composure. Just then two boys, the elder ten, the younger, perhaps, seven years of age, came into the room very softly—for those bare feet made no noise on the floor—each carrying a quantity of freshly-opened oyster-shells in his arms. The two children sat down in a corner of the room, and began to sort over the shells with eager haste. “Here is one—here is one!” whispered the elder boy; “not so very small either. Get me a knife.” The little fellow went to a pine table close by, took a broken case-knife from the drawer, and ran back with it to his brother, who held a huge oyster-shell in his hand, to which was attached a tolerably sized oyster still unopened. The elder boy snatched at the knife, beat the oyster open, and, pressing the shell back, lifted it greedily toward his lips; but when he caught the wistful look of his half-famished brother, the generous child withdrew the morsel slowly from his mouth, and gave it up to the two little, eager hands held forth to receive it. The moment his fingers closed on the shell, this little hero sprang away with it to his grandmother’s side. “Here, grandma, grandma! take it quick—take it quick!” he cried, breathless, with a spirit of self-sacrifice that might have honored a strong man. The grandmother turned her mild, brown eyes on the little, famished face uplifted so eagerly to hers, and, understanding all the heroism expressed there, gently shook her head, while a sweet, patient smile crept around her lips. “Eat it yourself, Joseph,” she said, patting him on the shoulder with her withered hand. “There is only a mouthful, and you are the youngest.” “No, no, grandma! It is for you—for you.” “Hollo, I have found another, two, three—one apiece; and another left for Anna, when she comes in. Eat away, grandma, there is enough for all. That man who keeps the stand at the corner is a famous fellow; he threw them in, I’ll be bound.” Little Joseph thrust the open oyster into his grandmother’s hand, cut a caper with his bare feet, and rushed back to the pile of shells in hot haste. “Save the biggest for Anna,” he shouted; “don’t touch that.” With that the two children huddled themselves down among the shells; and Robert, the elder, opened the two oysters that fell to their portion with great ostentation, as if he delighted in prolonging his pleasure by anticipation.