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"Darling," I cried, "ask papa if he can have the heart to give you away, the pride and joy of us all! Ask him who will kiss him in the morning and soothe him with sweet baby songs! Ask him if he can bear to miss the sweet red lips, and to hear the pretty voice calling for him, and then think that it will never greet him again. For you will be dead to us, baby, dead! I had rather you were carried out in your little coffin, and then under the green sod though you might be, we could still call you ours. Darling, tell him that sister will work for you, cheerfully, happily. Tell him not to fear, for that Providence that protects the very sparrows, will provide for his little boy. Tell him that I shall die if I miss my blessed baby's voice, singing about the house. Tell him to say no, darling; tell him to say no!"

How still it was, only for my passionate sobbing! The child put his dimpled fingers just under one eye, and then under the other, to wipe away the tears I could not keep back. His red lips quivered at sight of my grief, and like the sweetest music his dear voice sounded.

"No, papa, say no; Tilly 'ant you to."

My father broke down then, and wept like a child. My mother snatched the sweet child to her bosom.

"God gave him to me," she said, "as a gift from heaven," and, with a great sob, "none else shall take him away.

"Very well," there was a red spot on Uncle Sam's cheek, and a glitter that was not of blessed tears in his eyes. "Very well, John, I made you the offer in good faith. I would have aided you in more ways than one, but since you choose otherwise, good-by;" and he was gone. I fell upon my father's neck and kissed him. "Don't be afraid, father," I said, "God will help us. He will care for little Harry -- He has promised -- He will do better by our darling than any rich uncle can do. He will make him an honor and a blessing to us all. You are not sorry, dear father!"

"I thought of the child's good," he said, softly, -- "but -- I am glad he is gone alone; yes, very glad; we should have missed him so. But it was a sore temptation; we are very poor; and I can't bear to see your mother and you slave yourselves to death."

"O, if that is all," and I laughed heartily, joyously out of the fullness of my breast. "I think my work would kill me, if it wasn't for God and Harry; but when I get thinking of them, my tired arms grow strong and the sound of the mighty machinery is like music. When I come home, no matter how tired, at the prattle of baby's voice every ache goes out of my limbs. He rests me like music as I clasped him to my heart. He is sent like a blessed angel to cheer and enliven our poverty.

"Yes, yes, yes," said my father, smiling.

"But why don't Uncle Sam help you in some other way?" I asked, after a pause. "He has more money than he knows what to do with. No; he craves the sunshine even of this poor home; he can see you suffer, and yet draw the string of his purse more tightly."

My father shook his head. Then he said to himself softly,

"Poor Joe! poor Joe!"

"You mean Uncle Joe?"

"Yes, he was so different from Sam. His money was always shared with me. He never could enjoy a thing, poor fellow, unless I helped him -- poor Joe!"

"He went to sea, didn't he?" I asked, glad to divert his thoughts from himself.

"Yes; they called him wild and reckless, perhaps he was, and Sam was always steady and proper; never was punished; never went a hair's breadth from the line of decorum, and yet I loved Joe the best, loved him something as you love that youngster there.

He was impulsive and daring, he would do all manner of foolish things and get into no end of scrapes, and still every body seemed to forgive Joe, and prophesy better things of him."

"Where is he now, father, do you know?"

"If alive, I sometimes fear the worst for him, child; but I think he is dead. I heard that the ship be sailed in, eleven years ago, went down in a fearful storm; but vague hopes were entertained that some of the ship's company were saved. I don't know; I should surely have heard from him, I think, if he had been in the land of the living."

"He gave me a gold chain while I was still a baby."

"Yes, he was always giving."

Evening had come; the fire burned as cheerily in our little grate as if it had beamed upon rich furniture and costly carpets. The table bad been drawn back, and a little stand substituted, with THE BOOK upon it, from which my father always read aloud.

Harry lay in my arms, his blue eyes wondrous wise; his golden curls shining with a living light, as they coiled over my arms and hung along my white home apron. His wee, pink toes peeped from beneath a snowy, scant night dress. I was gazing at him, thankful that the prayer of the rich man had not prevailed.

Father had just opened the Book, mother had seated herself with a look at Harry which my full heart interpreted, when a carriage rolled up to the door. Then there was a heavy knock, an entrance, and a quick step on the stairs.