Evening came, and with it a furious snow-storm. Madly the wind careered through the streets--now fiercely dashing the snow into the faces of such unfortunate travellers as chanced to be abroad in that wild weather--now shaking the roofs of crazy old houses--and now tearing away in the distance with a howl of triumph at its power. The storm fiend was abroad--the elements were at war, and yet in the midst of that furious tumult, the poor fruit girl was toiling on her way towards her humble home. She reached it at last. It was a poor and lowly place, the abode of humble but decent poverty; yet the angel of peace had spread her wings there, and contentment had sat with them at their frugal board. True, it was but a garret; yet that little family, with hearts united by holy love, felt that to them it was a _home_. And then its little window commanded a distant view of a shining river, and green, pleasant fields beyond; and all day long, in fine weather, the cheerful sunshine looked in upon them, casting a gleam of gladness upon their hearts. It had been a happy home to the blind basket-maker and his grandchildren; but alas! sickness had laid its heavy hand upon the aged man, and want and wretchedness had become their portion. The girl entered with a sad heart, for she brought no relief to the hungering and sorrowing inmates of that lowly dwelling. Without saying a word she seated herself at the bed-side of her grandfather, and taking his hand in hers, bedewed it with her tears. The old man turned towards her, and said-- "Thou art weeping, Fanny--what distresses thee? Tears are for the aged and the sorrowing--not for the young. Thou hast not brought us food?--well, well; the will of Heaven be done! I shall soon be in the grave, and then thou and Charley--" "No, no, grandfather, pray don't say so," cried the poor girl, sobbing as if her heart would break--"what should we do without you? Heaven may spare you many happy years. I can work for you, and--" "So can I, too," rejoined her brother Charley, a lad eight or nine years of age--"and only to-day I got a promise from Mr. Scott the tailor, that I might, when a little older, run of errands for him, and my wages will be a dollar and a half a week--only think how much money I shall earn!" "Thou art a brave little man," said the grandfather--"but, my children, let us put our trust in God, and if it is His will that my earthly pilgrimage should end, be it so! Thank Heaven, I owe nothing, and can die at peace with all the world."