armth to their shivering bodies.

About the middle of December the first sharp frost set in, and Meg felt
herself driven back from this last relief. She had taken the children
out as usual, but she had no shoes to put on their feet, and nothing
but their thin old rags to clothe them with. Robin's feet were red and
blue with cold, like her own; but Meg could not see her own, and did
not feel the cold as much for them as for Robin's. His face had lost a
little of its roundness and freshness, and his black eyes some of their
brightness since his birthday; and poor Meg's heart bled at the sight
of him as he trudged along the icy pavement of the streets at her side.
There was one cook-shop from which warm air and pleasant odours came up
through an iron grating, and Meg hurried on to it to feel its grateful
warmth; but the shutters of the shop were not taken down, and the
cellar window was unclosed. Little Meg turned away sadly, and bent her
bare and aching feet homewards again, hushing baby, who wailed a
pitiful low wail in her ears. Robin, too, dragged himself painfully
along, for he had struck his numbed foot against a piece of iron, and
the wound was bleeding a little. They had turned down a short street
which they had often passed through before, at the end of which was a
small shop, displaying in its window a few loaves of bread, and some
bottles containing different kinds of sweetmeats, such as they had
indulged in sometimes in the palmy days when father was at home. The
door was divided in the middle, and the lower half was closed, while
the upper stood open, giving a full view of the shop within. Meg's old
brown bonnet just rose above the top of the closed half, and her
wistful face turned for a moment towards the tempting sight of a whole
shelf full of loaves; but she was going on slowly, when a kindly voice
hailed her from the dark interior.

'Hollo, little woman!' it shouted, 'I haven't set eyes on you this many
a day. How's Robbie and baby.'

'They're here, sir, thank you,' answered Meg, in a more womanly way
than ever, for she felt very low to-day. 'We're only doing middling,
thank you, sir.'

'Why, father's ship's come in,' said her good-natured friend from the
docks, coming forward and wiping his lips, as if he had just finished a
good meal. 'What makes you be doing only middling?'

'Father didn't come home in the ship,' replied Meg, her voice faltering
a little.

'Come in and tell us all abo