Mrs. Codman is sitting by the window industriously engaged in needle-work, and intent on accomplishing a certain amount before nightfall. She was past thirty-five, yet, in spite of the trials which have left their impress on her brow, she would readily be taken for five years younger. She has drawn her chair to the window to make the most of the rapidly fading daylight. As with swift fingers she plies the glistening needle, and the sun touches her cheek with a beaming glow, we can see that not only has she been beautiful, but is still so.
A hasty step is heard on the stairs, there is a stamping at the door, and in rushes a bright, handsome boy, with rosy cheeks and dark hair.
The mother's face lights up with a bright smile as she turns to her son, the only one she has left to love.
"You're a little later than usual, Charlie, are you not?"
"A little, mother. You see I didn't get a job till late, and then two came together."
"What were they?"
"A gentleman wanted me to take his carpet-bag from the Maine depot, and I had to carry it away up to Rutland Street."
"Did he go with you?"
"No; he had to go to his counting-room in State Street."
"Was he willing to trust you? Some boys might have made off with the carpet-bag, and he would have never seen it again."