"Why are you crying, little boy?" asked she; and her voice was so kind and her smile so pleasant that the little boy told her all about it.
"Dear me," said she, when he had finished; "I should not be surprised if you were the little boy for whom I am looking."
"Were you looking for a little boy six years old?" asked the child.
"Oh, yes, indeed," said the old woman; "and I want him to pick up a pennyworth of chips for me."
When the little boy heard this he knew that he must be the boy she wanted.
"I am six years old to-day," he said, "and I can pick up chips. I pick them up for my mother, and when I get my little red hatchet I am going to split kindling for her, too."
Then the old woman led the way to her house and gave the little boy a basket and showed him where the woodpile was. The wood chopper had been there with his sharp axe, and the chips were strewn about the yard. The little boy set to work with a will, and when he had filled the basket so full that not another chip would stay in, he took it to the old woman.
"Is this a pennyworth of chips?" he asked.
"Yes, and good measure," answered the old woman, and she took a bright new penny out of her bag and gave it to the little boy. "Good-by, and good fortune," she said; and the little boy wished her the same before he ran through the gate toward the town.