“Don’t cry, mother. I shall soon be older and stronger, and then I can do more for you and little sister. You shall never want for bread when I am a man. Don’t cry, mother, please don’t; it breaks my heart.”

The speaker was a manly little fellow of some seven years. His countenance would have been beautiful, but for an expression of premature and anxious care, and a look of patient suffering which it was painful to see on the face of happy childhood.

One arm was thrown around the neck of a pale, sad-looking woman, while the other clasped a chubby little girl, who, smiling through her tears, lisped, in her pretty childish accents,

“Don’t cry, mother. Rosy loves you.”

There was comfort in this. The last crust of bread had been eaten, and not a solitary sixpence remained to buy another loaf. The mother was too feeble and ill to ply her needle with that unremitting diligence which was necessary for the support of her little ones. Her strength had already been too severely taxed; and now the time had come when Nature could no longer support the heavy burden. The future was very, very dark; and yet the mother’s heart was comforted by the innocent love of her darlings. She wiped away those bitter tears, and tried to smile, as she clasped them to her bosom.

“My good Ernest,” she exclaimed, “my sweet little Rosy, I will weep no more. Our Heavenly Father careth even for the sparrows. Surely He will not forsake us in our hour of need. You must go to Mr. Thayer’s, my son, and see if he will give me some more work. Tell him that I have been very ill, but am better now, and should be glad of employment. Tell him, also, that it would be a great relief to me if he would pay me one dollar in advance. Perhaps he will do this for me.”

“If he does not, he will be a cross man,” said Ernest, “for he has a pocket-book full of dollars. I saw them the last time I was there.”

“Yes, dear; but he employs a great many people, and has to pay out a great deal of money.”

“You are not able to sew, mother,” said Ernest, thoughtfully, as he took up his hat. “It will bring back the bad pain in your side.”

“Perhaps not, Ernest. At any rate, I must try. Go now, my son, for I have no bread to give little Rosy for her dinner; and you, too, will soon be hungry.”

The heart of the boy swelled almost to bursting, as he obeyed his mother’s command. For many weeks she had been stretched on the bed of sickness; and the kind physician, whom she was at length obliged to call in, had said, in Ernest’s hearing, that she needed rest; that such constant exertion would certainly cause her death.

“And now she has sent me for the sewing again,” sobbed the poor child, “and I know it will kill her: and then, what will become of poor little Rosy and me. Oh! how I wish I was older. If I could only earn a very little, it would be some help. Is there nothing in the world that little boys can do?”

As Ernest said this, the shrill cry of a match boy attracted his attention; and a bright thought entered his mind.

He could carry a basket, surely. It could not be so heavy as the baskets of wood and blocks which he often picked up around the new buildings for his mother. And he could call matches, and sell them, too, and take the money to his mother. And then, how comfortable she would be; and she would not have to work so hard.

Pleasant visions of tea and bread, and even of a pound of butter, passed before Ernest’s eyes; but then an unexpected difficulty arose. Where was the sum necessary for the outfit to come from? It certainly did not need a very extensive capital; but dollars, or even shillings, were hard to find. Ernest had not answered the question to his satisfaction, when he found himself at the door of the building, where he was to obtain the work for his mother. There was little trouble in making the desired arrangement. Mrs. Lawrence was well known at the establishment as an excellent workwoman; and the work, and the dollar in advance, were readily furnished.

Encouraged by this success, Ernest involuntarily exclaimed,

“Oh, how I wish that some one would lend me a dollar!”

“And what would you do with a dollar, my little man?” inquired a gentleman standing by, attracted by the earnestness of the boy’s manner.

Ernest blushed deeply, but answered, in a firm tone,

“I would buy a basket and some matches, and other things, and sell them in the street; and then my poor mother would not have to work so hard.”

“You are a good son,” was the reply; “and I would willingly lend you the dollar, if I thought you were old enough to carry out the plan.”

“Only try me, sir!” exclaimed the animated child. “Only try me! You shall see that I can do it.”

At this moment, a hasty summons from a friend reminded the gentleman that he must not miss an approaching omnibus. He placed a dollar in Ernest’s hand; and without waiting to hear his expressions of gratitude, sprung into the coach, and was soon out of sight.

With rapid steps, Ernest passed through the crowded streets, until he turned down the narrow alley which led to his own home.

His delight was almost too great for utterance; and he clasped his arms around his mother’s neck, and fairly sobbed for joy.

“What is the matter, my dear son?” exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, in alarm. “What new misfortune has befallen us! Would not Mr. Thayer give me employment?”

“Oh yes, mother; yes, indeed; and here is the dollar he sent you. I am not crying because I am sorry, mother. My heart is very glad. You will not have to work so hard any more, mother; and I shall help to support you and little Rosy. See what a kind friend has lent me.” And as Ernest spoke, he held up the dollar which the gentleman had given him.

“And how will this enable you to support us, my child?” asked the widow, in astonishment, for she could not understand the meaning of Ernest’s words.

“You shall see, mother. I will try my best, and our Heavenly Father will help me. This dollar will buy me a basket, and a few things to put in it; and when I have sold those, I can buy some more. You do not know how well I can call matches, mother;” and he imitated the shrill cry so skilfully, that Rosy clapped her hands with admiration, and even his mother smiled at his enthusiasm.

But it was a sad smile; for it was a trial to her to have Ernest commence this new mode of life. He was a bright boy, and a good scholar for his age; and she had hoped that he would continue steadily at school, until he had acquired a good education.

But something must be done for their relief; and it was possible that the boy’s small earnings might at least help to supply their scanty food.

So the basket was bought, and a moderate supply of matches and other trifling articles placed in it; and early on the following morning, Ernest commenced his new life.

His neat appearance, and bright, animated countenance, were so prepossessing, that many who observed him were disposed to buy; and one kind lady even bestowed an extra sixpence upon him, because he thanked her so gratefully for buying half-a-dozen boxes of his matches.

With a joyful heart, he placed his earnings in his mother’s hands.

“Look, mother!” he exclaimed, “all this, besides what I need to buy more things with, and the sixpence which I have laid aside toward paying the dollar. You know I must lay by some every day to pay the gentleman. But how am I to find him, mother? I never thought to ask where he lived.”

“He probably meant to give you the money, Ernest, or he would have told you where to bring it.”

“Oh no, mother, he only lent it to me; I will pay it back, if I search the city to find him. How much I thank him for his kindness.”

“And I thank him too,” said little Rosy. “Now, we shall never be poor any more—shall we, Ernest?” “I think not,” replied Ernest. “Mother shall have a cup of tea every evening; and after a little while, Rosy, we will have butter to eat on our bread, and I will buy you a pretty new frock.”

“Poor children!” thought the mother, as she gazed fondly upon them. “How little it takes to make them happy!”

It was really wonderful what success attended our little match boy. Not only were many daily comforts provided, but quite a sum was laid by for time of need. Ernest was almost too happy when he saw both his mother and Rosy dressed neatly in frocks which had been bought with his earnings; and his only trouble was, that he had not yet been able to discover the good gentleman who had lent him the first dollar.

“I should so love to thank him, and tell him how nicely we are getting along,” he would sometimes say. “Your cheeks are not quite so pale as they used to be when you sewed so many hours in the night, mother. I am very glad that I am old enough to help you.”

“You are a great help to me, indeed, my son,” replied Mrs. Lawrence; “but I feel anxious that you should have a little time to devote to your learning. We have some money laid by now, and I think you may let your basket rest for awhile, and attend school.”

Ernest loved his books, and his eyes brightened at the thought of school; but after a moment’s thought, he said,

“It would not do, mother, to give up my basket altogether, because there are a good many kind ladies who buy many things from me, and always wait for me to come; and besides, we should soon spend the little money that we have, and then you would have to work so hard again. But I will study, mother; you will help me, and I will try my best. I can spare two or three hours every day for my books.”

And from that time, with his mother’s help, and his own patient industry, Ernest made rapid progress; and even found leisure to instruct his little sister in several branches.

Rosy was an active little girl, and loved to make herself useful. It was her busy fingers that placed everything in such neat and attractive order in her brother’s basket; and it was she, also, who made the room look so very bright and cheerful, to welcome his return. While her mother was engaged with her sewing, she would sweep the floor, wipe every particle of dust from the scanty furniture, set the table, and do everything that one so young could do toward preparing their frugal meal.

“See, Ernest,” she said, as her brother seated himself by her side one evening, after the tea table was cleared away, and Mrs. Lawrence had resumed her work. “See how nicely I have pasted this strip of sand paper over the mantel-piece, that you may have a place to light the match upon when you kindle the fire for mother in the morning.”

“Yes, it looks very nicely,” answered Ernest; “and I will try to remember never to draw the matches across the wall any more, since it leaves such ugly marks. But, Rosy, I see those same marks in very nice houses sometimes.”

“Perhaps they did not think about pasting up sand paper,” replied Rosy, thoughtfully; and then, after a moment’s pause, she added, “You might cut some little strips, Ernest, and sell them with your matches.”

“I might do something better than that,” exclaimed her brother, as a sudden thought struck him. “If mother will give us some paste, and you will let me use some of your pasteboard and bits of colored paper which the paper hanger, next door, gave you, I think I can make something very pretty to hold matches, and light them too.”

The paste and paper were readily supplied, but Ernest soon found that it was quite beyond his skill to carry out the plan which he had formed; and he was delighted when his mother laid aside her work, and offered to assist him.

With her help, a stiff piece of pasteboard, seven or eight inches square, was partly covered with sand paper, and neatly bordered with colored paper. Two little round cases were then fastened upon the upper part of the card, to hold the matches; and a small hole was made in the middle, so that it could be hung upon a nail driven into the wall.

Ernest and Rosy fairly jumped for joy when the first one was completed and placed upon the mantel-piece to dry. The second one was made much quicker than the first; and Mrs. Lawrence soon became so expert, that she had finished half a dozen in a very short time. These were enough for an experiment. Ernest was sure they would sell for sixpence a-piece; and after he went to bed, he could hardly close his eyes, his mind was so busy thinking what a little fortune he should make with this pretty invention.

His expectations were not disappointed. At every house where he called with his basket, the match cases were noticed and admired; and before he had been an hour from home, he had sold the last one, and with a light heart returned to tell his success to his mother.

A fresh supply was soon obtained; and for several days, he was equally successful in disposing of them.

At one house, where a little girl had purchased one of the first cases which had been made, he received an order for half-a-dozen, to be furnished as soon as possible.

“And be sure to make them very pretty, little boy,” said the young girl, as she stood at the door talking with Ernest; “for my father will look at them himself, and he will want them very nice. He was quite pleased when I showed him the one which I bought the other day, and he said you were an ingenious boy.”

“My mother makes the greater part of them, Miss,” replied Ernest, blushing. “We will do our best to please you.”

Rosy had been uncommonly successful, that day, in collecting pretty pieces of colored paper; and the six little cases, far prettier than any which had been made before, were soon completed and placed upon the mantel-piece to dry, that they might be in readiness for Ernest’s morning expedition.

Very happy he felt, as with his basket upon his arm, he knocked at the basement door of the handsome house where he had often sold his little wares, and inquired of the girl who opened the door, if he could see the young lady.

“Oh, you are Miss Ellen’s little match boy,” was the reply. “Wait a moment, and I will call her.”

Just then the door of the breakfast room opened, and Miss Ellen herself appeared.

“Have you brought them so soon?” she exclaimed, joyfully, as Ernest eagerly displayed his treasures. “Oh, they are very pretty! Come with me, and I will show them to papa. He has finished his breakfast, and is reading the morning paper. Come right along. Do not be afraid.”

Ernest took off his hat, and followed his little conductress into the front basement. A pleasant-looking gentleman sat in an arm-chair, with a newspaper in his hand.

“Here is the little match boy, papa,” said Ellen, as they entered. “He has brought the cases which you wished for. Look! are they not pretty?”

“Very pretty, my daughter, and very neatly made. What is your name, my little lad?”

But Ernest made no reply. He was looking intently and eagerly at the gentleman, and after a moment’s pause, exclaimed,

“It must be the very one! I am so glad!”

“Glad of what, my little fellow?” asked the gentleman, smiling.

“Glad to find you, Sir. Do you not remember that you lent me a dollar? Oh, it has been of great use to me; and I have wanted so much to thank you, and pay it back to you. I have carried it in my pocket for a long time; but I did not know that you lived in this house.”

As Ernest spoke, he drew a silver dollar from his pocket, carefully wrapped in a piece of paper, and offered it to the gentleman; but he drew back, saying,

“This is some mistake, my lad. I never lent you a dollar.”

“Oh yes, Sir, a long time ago; more than a year. It was in Mr. Thayer’s shop, Sir. We were very poor then, and I was so anxious to do something to help my mother. You thought I was too small to carry a basket; but you lent me the dollar.”

“I remember it now, my boy. You are an honest little fellow. And have you really succeeded well?”

“Very well, Sir. We are not so poor now. Mother does not have to work so hard, and we have good food and comfortable clothes. It is all owing to your kindness, Sir.”

Once more Ernest offered the dollar; but the gentleman refused it, saying,

“I intended to give it to you, my child.”

“But I should feel happier if you would take it, Sir; I have saved it for you so long.”

“I will take the little match boxes instead, then,” replied his friend. “Will that satisfy you?”

“They are not worth a dollar,” replied Ernest; “but I can bring you more, if you like.”

“We have enough, my good boy. A dollar is not too much for them. And now, give me your name, and tell me where you live, for I shall wish to see more of you.”

“My name is Ernest Lawrence, Sir; and we live in one room of the large white house near the Baptist church.”

“Ah, yes, I know the place. Well, Ernest, tell your mother that I will call to see her to-morrow morning, about ten o’clock.”

“Thank you, Sir; I will not forget to tell her. She will be very much obliged to you for your kindness, and so will Rosy.”

“Who is Rosy?” asked Ellen, who had been an attentive listener to the conversation between her father and the little match boy.

“My sister, Miss,” replied Ernest, as he took up his basket, and made his best bow to the gentleman.

The next morning was a long one to the two children. Very early had Rosy assisted her mother in putting their little room in the neatest order; and two hours before the time when they might expect the gentleman, she was gazing eagerly from the window, hoping that he would soon arrive.

The right time came at last; and Mr. Burnap—for this was the name of Ernest’s benefactor—was seen ascending the steps. The children ran to the door to receive him, and show him the way to their room.

He spoke kindly to them both, and stroked Rosy’s golden curls; but he had not long to stay, and seemed anxious to have some conversation with their mother. So the children employed themselves quietly in another part of the room, and were careful not to speak a loud word, for fear of disturbing their guest.

After a little while, they softly left the room, and seated themselves on the step of the outer door, where they could talk together in more freedom, and yet be very sure to see Mr. Burnap before he left the house.

In about half an hour, their mother called them.

“Come here, my boy,” said Mr. Burnap, extending his hand to Ernest, as he advanced. “Your mother tells me that you are fond of your books. Would you like to give up going out with your basket, and attend a good school?”

Ernest hesitated.

“Speak out, my boy. Tell us what is in your mind.”

“I should love to go to school very much, Sir, if I was sure that my mother would not have to work too hard. My basket earns enough to buy us many comforts.”

“I will see that your mother is provided for. Would you, then, like to attend school?”

“Oh, very much, Sir. I will study hard.”

“That is right. You are a good son, and I think you will be a good man. As for my little Rosy, I am sure she is a good little girl, and does all she can to be useful.”

“I can sweep the room, Sir,” replied Rosy, smiling pleasantly, as the gentleman drew her to his side.

“I thought so, my child. It looks very nice. I must bring my little daughter to see you some time. And now, I must bid you all good morning. I will call again in one week, Mrs. Lawrence; please to have all in readiness.”

Mrs. Lawrence bowed her head gratefully, but her heart was too full to speak; and she quite alarmed the children by weeping some time after Mr. Burnap left the room.

At length she grew calm, and was able to tell them all that had passed. Their kind friend had expressed his interest in Ernest’s welfare, and had offered to give him a good education at his own expense. He had asked Mrs. Lawrence many questions concerning her present employment; and finding that constant confinement to her needle was injurious to her health, and yielded them but a scanty support, he had proposed to her to remove to some comfortable rooms in a house of his own, part of which was at this time vacant. One of these rooms was fitted for a shop; and he offered to advance a sufficient sum to enable her to open a small thread and needle store, which would, he thought, be successful, and might be gradually increased.

Ernest and Rosy were almost wild with delight, when their mother told them of this plan. Rosy was sure she could soon learn to attend the shop as well as her mother; and Ernest thought he could help a great deal when he was not in school. Their hearts were filled with gratitude to their Heavenly Father, who had raised them up such a kind friend.

In about a week they were established in their new home, which seemed to them almost like a palace. Several articles of furniture were given them by Mr. Burnap; and the whole place presented a remarkably neat and attractive appearance.

The little shop was very successful; and before many months had passed away, Mrs. Lawrence was able, not only to repay the sum which their friend had advanced to them, but also to increase her stock of goods considerably.

Mr. Burnap would have objected to receiving the money, but Mrs. Lawrence begged that he would take it, and if he pleased, use it to assist others who were poor and needy.

Ernest applied with great diligence to his studies, and made rapid progress. Little Rosy, also, was soon placed at school; and was no less an industrious scholar than her brother. They delighted to do everything in their power to assist their mother, and often wished they could do more, to show their gratitude to the friends who had been so kind to them.

Mr. Burnap had no son, and Ernest became very dear to him. After several years, he took him into his own counting-room, and, as he grew older, made him a partner in his business.

Ernest, while still a young man, was a wealthy merchant. If you could have looked into his beautiful parlors, and have seen that handsomely-dressed, cheerful-looking old lady, seated in her rocking-chair, and that lovely young girl by her side, you would not have recognized poor Mrs. Lawrence and her little Rosy; and in that gentlemanly-looking man who has just entered, you would have been still more unable to have recalled the little match boy, whose shrill cry had once been heard through those very streets, where he was now known and respected.

Ernest still loved to tell the story; and when Rosy would sometimes say,

“That little thread and needle store seems like a dream to me now,” he would produce the very basket which he had formerly carried, and the silver dollar which he had so long reserved to repay his benefactor, and would smilingly reply,

“My match basket is still a reality to me, Rosy. We will not forget the days gone by.”