“‘I shouldn’t care for all the rest without this one,’ said the cobbler;—‘nor I shouldn’t mind anything but for this,’ he added, in a somewhat changed tone.
“‘But father, you mustn’t talk of that to-night;—we are only going to talk of the things we have to be thankful for.’
“‘Well, we’ll take the others to-morrow night, maybe, and see what we can make of them. Go on, Susie,’ said the cobbler, putting his head down to her cheek,—‘I have my dear little child, and she has her father. That’s something to thank God and to be glad for,—every day.’
“‘So I do, every day, father,’ said Susan very softly.
“‘And so do I,’ said the cobbler; ‘and while I can take care of thee, my dearest, I will take trouble for nothing else.’
“‘Now you are getting upon the other things, father,’ said Sue. ‘Father, it is something to be thankful for that we can have such a nice fire every night,—and every day, if we want it.’
“‘You don’t know what a blessing ’tis, Sue,’ said her father. ‘If we lived where we couldn’t get drift-wood,—if we lived as some of the poor people do in the great cities, without anything but a few handfuls of stuff to burn in the hardest weather, and that wretched stuff for making a fire,—I am glad you don’t know how good it is, Sue!’ said he, hugging his arms round her. ‘There isn’t a morning of my life but I thank God for giving us wood, when I go about kindling it.’
“‘How do they do in those places, without wood?’ said Sue, sticking out her feet towards the warm, ruddy blaze.
“‘He who knows all only knows,’ said the cobbler, gravely. ‘They do without! It seems to me I would rather go without eating, and have a fire.’