ched face. But she did, and with a world of feeling in her own
sweet face, she offered me, not money, but her hand, saying in a voice
that made my heart leap up,--

"'Richard, I was afraid you had gone down as so many disappointed young
men go when their ambitious hopes fail; but I am so glad, so proud to
see in your face that you still work and wait, like a brave and honest
man. I _must_ speak to you!'

"What could I do after that but hold the white hand fast in both my
grimy ones, while I told my little story, and the hope that had come at
last. Heaven knows I told it very badly, for those tender eyes were upon
me all the time, so full of unspoken love and pity, admiration and
respect, that I felt like one in a glorified dream, and forgot I was a
coal-heaver.

"That was the last of it, though, and the next time I came to see my
Kate it was with clean hands, that carried her, as a first love-token,
the little tale which was the foundation-stone of this happy home."

He stopped there, and his face brightened beautifully, for the sound of
little feet approached, and childish voices cried eagerly,--

"Papa! papa! the snow has come! May we go and shovel off the steps?"

"Yes, my lads, and mind you do it well; for some day you may have to
earn your breakfast," answered Dick, as three fine boys came prancing
in, full of delight at the first snow-fall.

"These fellows have a passion for shovelling which they inherit from
their father," he added, with a twinkle of the eye that told Mrs. Kate
what we had been talking about.

It was sweet to see with what tender pride she took the hand he
stretched out to her, and holding it in both her own, said, with her
eyes upon her boys,--

"I hope they _will_ inherit not only their father's respect for honest
work, but the genius that can see and paint truth and beauty in the
humble things of this world."

XI.

CLAMS.

A GHOST STORY.

"I haven't a room in the house, ma'am, but if you don't mind going down
to the cottage, and coming up here to your meals, I can accommodate you,
and would be glad to," said Mrs. Grant, in answer to my demand for
board.

"Where is the cottage?" and I looked about me, feeling ready to accept
anything in the way of shelter, after the long, hot journey from
broiling Boston, to breezy York Harbor.

"Right down there, just a step, you see. It's all in order, and next
week it will be full, for many folks prefer it because of the quiet."