“What have you there, Chester?” she asked.
“A pie from Miss Cleveland.”
“But how came she to give you a pie?”
“I shoveled a path for her, and she gave me a pie and ten cents—no, nine. So you see, mother, I’ve earned something this week.”
“I take it as a good omen. A willing hand will generally find work to do.”
“How are you off for wood, mother?”
“There is some left, Chester.”
“I’ll go out in the yard and work at the wood pile till dinner time. Then this afternoon I will go out again and see if I can find some more paths to shovel.”
But Chester was not destined to earn any more money that day. As a general thing, the village people shoveled their own paths, and would regard hiring such work done as sinful extravagance. Chester did, however, find some work to do. About half-past three he met Abel Wood tugging a large basket, filled with groceries, to the minister’s house. He had set it down, and was resting his tired arms when Chester came along.
“Give me a lift with this basket, Chester, that’s a good fellow,” said Abel.