"Oh, it was a real happy day. My mother made a plum-pudding for us, and my father took us all to the park for a walk after tea. And then, he used always to give me a present. I have one of them yet."
"Where is it, mother?" said little Angel; "do let me see it."
"Oh, it's up on that shelf," said her mother, pointing to some little shelves at the top of the kitchen. "It's a shame to let it lie there when I promised him to read it every day. But what can a woman do that's got a drunken husband, five children, and a mangle?" she said, more to herself than to the child.
"Please let me look at your birthday present, mother," said little Angel again.
Mrs. Blyth stood upon one of the broken chairs, and took down from the shelf an old and shabby book. The cover was half off, and it was thickly coated with dust. One of the spiders had been busy in its neighbourhood, and had fastened one end of a large cobweb to its cover.
She wiped it with her dirty apron, and handed it to the child; then she sat down again, and bent over the fire.
"Here's writing at the beginning, mother," said Angel; "what does it say?"
Mrs. Blyth took the book, and a tear fell on the soiled leaves of the Bible as she opened it.
"Given to Emily Brownlow by her dear Father on her birthday, with the hope that she will remember her promise."
"And what was the promise, mother!"