The poor children of that log-house were fast
asleep: for all that day they had been out upon the plain, where the
sun, from a cloudless sky, glared down upon them; and now the evening
shade was beautiful, and so soothing too, that neither the hard pallet
of straw, nor the hungry musquitoes could drive sleep from eyes so
weary. The sick babe was asleep too: all day it had moaned in its
comfortless little cradle, for the mother had work to do--hard work,
and abundant--for a family so large and poor. Heavily sat poor Mrs.
Graffam upon the door-stone, waiting, she could not tell for what. Many
years before she had waited at twilight for her husband's return, and
listened, as the wind rustled the leaves, because she loved to go out
and meet him as he neared their home. But those years were gone, and
with them the lovelight and beauty of both heart and home. The contrast
between that barren, desolate plain and her former home, was not
greater than the contrast between the glad heart of other years, and
the one sinking despairingly as she sat upon the door-stone that night.
At last she heard a heavy step along the path leading from the narrow
road to that lone hut; but the sound of that step only deepened the
shadow that gloomed around her. She sat motionless; and there was
something in her manner like the resignation of a stricken, but
trusting heart: but it was not that; it was only the sullen gloom of
despair.
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