"I ought to think myself lucky to get employment at all," said the widow.
"I wish I could get steady work somewhere," said Frank; "but I've tried and tried, and it seems impossible."
"Willing hands will not want work long," said his mother.
"I hope not, mother. But I must be going, or somebody will get the start of me."
While Frank is on his way to Squire Ashmead's, a few words of explanation may be given. His mother had been a widow for two years. Her husband had been a man of some education, having at times taught school, but he had never succeeded in laying up any money, and his widow was left almost penniless. Frank, who was a stout boy, and a good boy as well, had earned something by doing odd jobs, but had failed to obtain permanent employment. The burden of their joint support, therefore, was thrown upon his mother, who was very industrious with her needle, but was compelled to labor beyond her strength. All this troubled Frank, who felt that, as a stout, strong boy, he ought to bear at least half the expense.
In due time he reached Squire Ashmead's, and was glad to see that the snow remained undisturbed.
He rang the bell, and asked if he might shovel the paths that were necessary.
Squire Ashmead was absent in New York, to which city he had gone the morning previous on business, but his wife agreed to employ Frank.
He went to work with a will, and soon had a path dug from the front door to the gate. A path was also required from the back door to the stable, which was situated in the rear of the house. This was quite a distance, and as Frank wished to do the work thoroughly, it required considerable time.
He was about half through this portion of his task when a snowball whistled by his ear.