ildren are taking care of me while I am helpless, as I took care of
them when they were helpless."

Andre was patient and submissive--not as a philosopher, but as a
Christian. The great calamity of want had apparently been turned from
his door, and he was happy--happy in his heart, even while his frame
was suffering. Blessed are they in whom Christian faith and hope have
found a resting-place! In his care for these two children, Andre had
long before been led to place his trust in things higher than earth,
and in striving to guide them in the right path, he had found it
himself.

Leo remained but a few moments in the sick room, and then hastened down
to the workshop to commence the jobs for which he had contracted.
Laying aside the four houses in which he had made some progress, he
proceeded to "get out" the lumber for the others. On a paper, stuck up
under the window, was the plan of the establishment he had sold to the
banker, with all the dimensions written upon it. Under the bench he had
several hundred feet of half-inch pine boards, which he had purchased
with money earned by shovelling off sidewalks.

As the plan was already drawn, and he knew exactly how all the parts
were to be put together, there was no delay in the work. He had sawed
out all the lumber required for the two houses, and had nicely planed
the boards, when Maggie called him to supper. He had worked very hard,
but he did not feel tired. He was never weary of mechanical employment
like this, even when doing it with no distinct end in view; but now
that he was to keep the wolf from the door, there was an inspiration in
the work which lifted him above bodily fatigue.

He went to his supper with a keen appetite; but he did not like to
spare the time to eat it, and it seemed like a hardship to be compelled
to leave the workshop. When he had finished his supper, and was
hurrying down stairs, there was a knock at the front door. He hoped it
was a customer come to order a mouse-house; but he was disappointed,
when he went to the door, to find only Fitz Wittleworth there.

"Good evening, Leo. Is your sister at home?" asked Fitz, in his usual
patronizing tones.

"She is," replied Leo, rather coldly, for he could not see what Fitz
wanted with his sister.

"I should like to see her," added Fitz, loftily, as though his presence
at the house of the barber was a condescension which Leo ought to
appreciate.

"My father is sick, and Maggie is busy taking