“Yes, mother.” And Lizzie ran lightly to the little box where she kept her treasure, quickly brought it forth, and placed it in Willie’s hand.
“That is your Christmas present,” said she, gayly.
Willie looked surprised.
“Do you mean it for me?” he asked, in a half-bewildered tone.
“Yes, if you like it.”
“I thank you very much for your kindness,” said Willie, earnestly, “and I will always remember it.”
There was something in the boy’s earnest tone which Lizzie felt was an ample recompense for the little sacrifice she had made. Mr. Dinsmoor fulfilled his promise, and walked with Willie as far as the street in which he lived, when, feeling sure that he could no longer mistake his way, he left him.
Mr. Dinsmoor, whom we have introduced to our readers, was a prosperous merchant, and counted his wealth by hundreds of thousands. Fortunately, his disposition was liberal; and he made the poor sharers with him in the gifts which Fortune had so liberally showered upon him.
Notwithstanding the good use which he made of his wealth, he was fated to experience reverses,—resulting, not from his own mismanagement, but from a general commercial panic, which all at once involved in ruin many whose fortunes were large, and whose credit was long established. In a word, Mr. Dinsmoor failed.