How bitter those privations were, and how hard the boy worked to remove them, no one ever knew but themselves.

Night after night, two, three, four hours after midnight, could we hear the occasional raking up of the scanty fire, or the hollow and half-stifled cough, which indicated his being still at work; and day after day, could we see more plainly that nature had set that unearthly light in his plaintive face, which is the beacon of her worst disease.
Actuated, we hope, by a higher feeling than mere curiosity, we contrived to establish, first an acquaintance, and then a close intimacy, with the poor strangers.

Our worst fears were realised; the boy was sinking fast.
Through a part of the winter, and the whole of the following spring and summer, his labours were unceasingly prolonged: and the mother attempted to procure needle-work, embroidery--anything for bread.
A few shillings now and then, were all she could earn.

The boy worked steadily on; dying by minutes, but never once giving utterance to complaint or murmur.
One beautiful autumn evening we went to pay our customary visit to the invalid.

His little remaining strength had been decreasing rapidly for two or three days preceding, and he was lying on the sofa at the open window, gazing at the setting sun.