The girl stepped quickly to her mother's side and drew the gray head
gently to her shoulder, whispering comfortingly: "There, there, little
mother, don't cry so. You are fretting yourself to death over Tim, and
surely, surely, things will come right in the end. Tim is not a bad boy,
mother dear, only a little wild just now. Remember how good he used to
be, how kind, how helpful, in that hard time you were just speaking
about. Remember how good he was when father died, and how young he was
when he first went to work to help you support us all. Tim's a good boy
at heart, mother, and he's bound to come back before long."
"Yes, dearie, that's what the Father says," returned her mother, slowly
drying her eyes and rising to lay the girl's supper upon the table.
"He says not to worry but just pray, pray, pray, and Tim will surely
come back before long. But there, dear, sit down and eat your supper;
then we'll fill the children's stockings for I can guess what is in all
those parcels you brought home. Poor little things, it would not be
Christmas for them unless they hung their stockings. Thank God, I've
always managed to find something to put into them if it was only an
orange or an apple and a little candy. Indeed, that's about all it was
when you and Tim were younger, but life is so much easier now that you
are helping me.
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