One bitter cold night Dilly sat down utterly
discouraged as she placed the last stick of wood on the fire. Her boy had
been so ill for several days she could not leave him to go to her
accustomed labor, and consequently the small pile of fuel was consumed.
What was she to do? Willie was already crying of cold, and she sat over
the expiring blaze crying because she had naught to render him
comfortable. After a while he grew silent, and, softly approaching, she
found he had sunk into a quiet slumber. Carefully covering him with the
thin, tattered blankets, she pinned a shawl over her head, and, softly
closing the door behind her, stole forth into the biting night air, and
directed a hasty tread toward Mr. Pimble's great brick mansion. A bright
light gleamed through the kitchen windows as she ascended the steps and
gave a hurried knock. Directly she heard a shuffling sound, and knew Mr.
Pimble, in his heelless slippers, was approaching. Fast beat her heart as
the door opened, and she beheld his gaunt form and unyielding features.

"What brings you here this bitter cold night, Dilly Danforth?" exclaimed
he, in a surly tone, as the furious blast rushed in his face, and nearly
extinguished the lamp he held in his skinny grasp.

She stepped inside, and he closed the door.

"'Tis the bitter cold night which brings me, Mr. Pimble," she said,
feeling she must speak quickly, for Willie was at home alone; "my boy is
sick and suffering from cold. For myself, I would not ask a favor, but
for him I entreat you to give me an armful of wood to keep him from
perishing."

"Why don't you work and buy your wood?" asked he, angered by this sudden
demand upon his charity.

"I worked as long as I could leave my child," answered Mrs. Danforth,
"and I thought maybe you would be willing to allow me something for my
work here."

"Allow you something, woman? Don't I give you the rent of that great
house for the few light chores you do for us, which really amount to
nothing? Your impudence is astonishing;" and Esq. Pimble's voice quivered
with rage, as he thus addressed the trembling woman.

Dilly stood irresolute, and Mr. Pimble was silent a few moments, when a
voice from the parlor called out, imperiously, "Pimble, I want you!"

The man roused himself and rushed to the door in such haste as to lose
both his slippers.

"What are you blabbing about out there?" Dilly heard Mrs. Pimble ask, in
an angry tone.

"Dilly Danforth has come for s