Her husband, by saving where Thorne spent in foolish trifles, and working when Thorne was idle, gradually laid by enough to purchase a little farm, upon which he had removed, and there industry and frugality brought its sure rewards.

They had three children: little Ellen had grown to a lively, rosy-cheeked, merry-faced girl of eleven years; and George, who had followed Ellen, was in his seventh year, and after him came the baby, now just completing the twelfth month of its innocent, happy life.

It was in the season when the farmers' toil is rewarded, and William Moreland was among those whose labor had met an ample return.
How different was the scene, in his well established cottage, full to the brim of plenty and comfort, to that which was passing at the same hour of the day, a few weeks before, in the sad abode of Ellen, herself its saddest inmate.
The table was spread for the evening meal, always eaten before the sun hid his bright face, and George and Ellen, although the supper was not yet brought in, had taken their places; and Moreland, too, had drawn up with the baby on his knee, which he was amusing with an apple from a well filled basket, the product of his own orchard.
A hesitating rap drew the attention of the tidy maiden who assisted Mrs.Moreland in her duties.
"It is the poor old blind man," she said, in a tone of compassion, as she opened the door.
"Here is a shilling for him, Sally," said Moreland, handing her a piece of money.

"The Lord has blessed us with plenty, and something to spare for his needy children." The liberal meal upon the table, the mother sat down with the rest, and as she looked around upon each happy face, her heart blessed the hour that she had given her hand to William Moreland.

Just as the meal was finished, a neighbor stopped at the door and said: "Here's a letter for Mrs.Moreland; I saw it in the post-office, and brought it over for her, as I was coming this way." "Come in, come in," said Moreland, with a hearty welcome in his voice.
"No, I thank you, I can't stop now.