"Ben is away, father."

"Oh, yes, yes. Business, I suppose. Ben'll turn out all right at last. I
always thought so. After he sort o' outgrows 'Liz'beth's trainin'. But I
hope he'll get back for Christmas. Somehow I've been thinkin' lately
'bout the Christmas days when Ben was a little boy. We allus put
something in his stockin' that night, no matter if twan't no more'n a
sweet cake. Sakes alive! how he prized things he found in his stockin'
Christmas mornin's! I got to thinkin' 'bout it all last Christmas out at
that there Institute, and I just laid an' bawled like a baby, I was so
home-sick like. Seemed to me if I could just _see_ Ben's face again, I'd
ask nothin' more of Heaven. And now I think if I can just hear his voice
again, it'll be enough. Do you think he'll git home for Christmas,
Abby?"

"I hope so, dear father, but I cannot tell." Edith answered softly, her
heart seeming to break in her breast as she listened.

She knew very well that Ben would not go across the street to see the
father he had deserted, and that she could never send for him to come to
_her_ house, to pay even a last visit of mercy.

"What will I do--how can I explain to him, when Christmas comes and Ben
does not appear?" she thought.

But the way was shown her by that great Peace-Maker who helps us out of
all difficulties at last.

Christmas Eve, the old man's constant chatter grew flighty and
incoherent. He talked of people and things unknown to Edith, and spoke
his mother's name many times. Then he fell asleep. In the morning he
seemed very weak, and his voice was fainter.

"Such a strange dream as I have had, 'Lis'beth," he said, as Edith put
her hand on his brow, and smoothed back the thin, white hair.

"Such a strange dream, I thought Ben had grown into a man, and had left
me alone--all alone to die. I'm so glad to be awake and find it isn't
true. How dark it is, and how long the night seems! To-morrow is
Christmas. Did you put something in Ben's stockings, 'Lis'beth? I have
forgotten."

"Yes," answered Edith, in a choked voice.

"And it's gettin' colder, 'Lis'beth. Hadn't you better look after Ben a
little? See if he's covered up well in his crib. You're so careless,
'Lis'beth, the boy'll take his death o' cold yet. And he's all I've
got. He'll make a fine man, a fine man if you don't spoil him,
'Lis'beth. But you hain't no real sense for trainin' a boy, somehow. Is
he covered up? It's bitter, bitter cold."

"He is we