"It's nothing, dearie," the poor creature said. "Mamma's only a
little tired. See," she added, tottering to the table, "I have
brought you a great piece of gingerbread."
The hungry child grasped it, and was oblivious and happy.
By the time Jamie returned with his first basket of kindling and
coal, the mother had so far rallied from her exhaustion as to meet
him smilingly again and help him replenish the dying fire.
"Now you shall rest and have your gingerbread before going for
your second load," she said cheerily; and the boy took what was
ambrosia to him, and danced around the room in joyous reaction
from the depression of the long weary day, during which, lonely
and hungry, he had wondered why his mother did not return.
"So little could make them happy, and yet I cannot seem to obtain
even that little," she sighed. "I fear--indeed, I fear--I cannot
be with them another Christmas; therefore they shall remember that
I tried to make them happy once more, and the recollection may
survive the long sad days before them, and become a part of my
memory.
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