The dollar
had been returned, for at the next town the object of Tony's charity had
found steady work. That was last year. This Christmas he was not doing
a thing for any one; he had forgotten completely, probably because
Martha was not there to remind him.
He placed the bread and the pie back upon the table and stood looking at
them long and earnestly. He knew of one who needed them far more than he
did, a poor widow over in "the hollow," whose five small children,
sickly, starved little creatures, were more than half the time crying
with cold and hunger. He opened the package of tobacco, filled his pipe
and sat down in his chair by the stove to smoke and think.
How those poor children would enjoy the bread and pies and cakes which
John's wife had sent him! Poor little things, they seldom, if ever,
tasted fare like that. He really did not need them; he managed to get
along pretty well and the neighbors were all good to him; especially
since Martha died. He would really be glad to give those children
something, but he was so tired, so tired, and it was quite a walk over
to the hollow.
Then, the storm! How the wind shrieked and tore around the house, and
how steadily the snow beat against the window panes! It was warm and
comfortable there by the fire, but outside----. And he was unusually
tired to-night; that walk to the village had been almost too much for
him.
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