TURNS OF FORTUNE.

 

CHAPTER I.

‘ Husu, Sarah!” exclaimed old Jacob Bond,
as he sat up in his bed, while the wind clattered
and whistled through the shivering window
frames. ‘* Hush! Is that Brindle’s bark ?”

‘* No, father ; it is one of the farm dogs near
the village. Lie down, dearest father; it is a
cold night, and you are trembling.”

‘IT don’t know why I should feel cold, Sa-
rah,” he replied, pointing his shadowy fingers
towards the grate, where an abundant fire
blazed; “I am sure you have put down as
much wood as would roast an ox.”

‘It is so very cold, father.” |

Still, we must not be wasteful, Sarah,”? he
answered; ‘ wilful-waste makes woful want.”
Sarah Bond covered the old man carefully
over, while he laid himself stiffly down upon his
pallet, re-muttering his favourite proverb over
and over again.

She then drew the curtains more closely,
and seated herself in an old-fashioned chair
- beside a little table in front of the fire,