A small lamp threw a cheery light over
the bare table and its few dishes, over the faces of mother, boy, and
girl. It revealed the bed, moved back into its usual corner, shone on
the cupboard with its red paint nearly worn off, and dimly lighted the
few pictures hanging on the rough whitewashed wall.
It was a poor home, but the lamplight revealed no discontent in the
faces around the table. True, the mother's was a little pinched and
careworn, which gave the yet beautiful face a sharp expression; but the
other two countenances shone with health and happiness. The girl was
enjoying her supper, the bright sagebrush fire, and the story book by
the side of her bowl, all at the same time. She dipped, alternately,
into her bowl and into her book.
The boy was the man of that family. He had combed his hair well back,
and his bright, honest face gleamed in the light. He was big and strong,
hardened by constant toil, matured beyond his years by the
responsibility which had been placed upon him since his father's death,
now four years ago.
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