bout ten feet by eight.
They were left orphans, and were obliged to take care of themselves.
Many of the articles of furniture left them had been disposed of to
supply the calls of urgent want. In the room was an old four post
bedstead, with curtains almost worn out, one mattrass with two small
pillows, a bolster that was almost flat, three old blankets and cotton
sheets, of coarse description, three rush-bottom chairs, an old claw
table, a chest of draws, with a few battered band-boxes on the top of
it, a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place, a wooden box for
coals, a little tin fender, and an old poker. What there was, however,
was kept clean, the floor and yellow paint was clean, and the washing
tub which sat in one corner of the room.

"It was a bitter cold night, the wind blew and shook the window, when
a young girl of about eighteen sat by the tallow candle, which burned
in a tin candlestick, at 12 o'clock at night, finishing a piece of
work with the needle which she was to return next morning. Her name
was Lettice Arnold. She was naturally of a cheerful, hopeful temper,
and though work and disappointment had faded the bright colors of
hope, still hope buoyed up her spirits.

"Her sister Myra was delicate, and lay on the mattrass on that night,
tossing about with suffering, unable to rest. At last Lettice says to
her:----

"'Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'

"'It is so cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come
to bed?'

"'One quarter of an hour more, Myra, and I shall have finished my
work, and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you
will be a little warmer.'

"Myra sighed, and lifted up her head, and leaning upon her arm watched
the progress of her sister as she plied the needle to her work.

"'How slowly,' said Myra, 'you do get along. It is one o'clock, and
you have not finished yet.'

"'I cannot work fast, Myra, and neatly too; my hands are not so
delicate and nimble as yours,' and smiling a little, she added: 'Such
swelled clumsy things, I cannot get over the ground nimbly and well at
the same time. You, are a fine race horse, and I a drudging pony. But
I shall soon be through.'

"Myra once more uttered a sigh and cried:

"'Oh, my feet are dreadful cold.'

"'Take this bit of flannel,' said Lettice, 'and let me wrap them up.'

"'Nay, you will want it,' she replied.

"'Oh, I have only five minutes to sit up, and I can wrap this piece of
carpet