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A very aged man was sitting in a corner mending a net, -- such a one as is used for catching shrimps. A middle-aged woman was clearing away the remains of a meal; and the other, having given the plate into the hands of the child, had turned to an ironing-board, which was covered with laces and muslins.

It was a tolerably comfortable kitchen and, as no one spoke for a few moments, the lady had time to remark the long strings of dried herrings that hung from the blackened beams in the roof, the brick floor which was a good deal worn away and looked somewhat damp, the sea-coats hanging on the wall, the oars lying under the chairs, and that general overcrowding of furniture, and yet neatness, which is often seen in a fisherman's cottage, and gives it a resemblance to the cabin of a ship.

The old man at length looked up. " reckon you have had a long walk, ma'am," said he. "The visitors from D---- very seldom come over to this lone place. All the fine things they want to see lie on t'other side."

"Yes, it is a long walk," she answered; "and I do not know that I should have come quite so far if I had not met with this poor boy; he must be a great charge to you indeed."

"Ah, you may say that, ma'am," said the woman at the ironing-board; "he is thirteen year old come Michaelmas, poor fellow, and has never done a hand's turn for himself in his life, and never will, as you may plainly see."

"Are both his parents dead?"

"Yes; his poor father was lost in a gale five weeks afore he was born. He sailed in a fine new brig, the Fanny of London. She was very heavy laden with wheat, and she went down in Boston Deeps, and all on board perished. He was mate, and a very steady man."

"The boy's mother was my granddaughter" said the aged man.

"Yes, a poor young thing," observed the woman, "and she died afore he was a year old. As fine a child he was as you would wish to see at first; and when I took him to be baptized, -- for his mother didn't get over her confinement time enough to take him herself, -- I well remember Mr. Green saying to me, 'Well, Mary Goddard, I hope this child may live to be a comfort to his mother; and you may tell her so from me.' But, poor dear, she didn't live to want comfort but doted on the child, and never thought he would be a comfort to nobody."

"Not but what there was something strange about him from the first," interrupted the old man.

"Ay," said the woman, "for though he was a brave child to look at, he couldn't stand; and he had a way of sitting with his head back that was queer to see; and his mother took notice of it, for a few days afore she died. 'Aunt,' she says, 'I misdoubt about my boy; however, I put my trust in the Almighty.' 'What do you mean by that?' says I; 'the child's well enough, Sarah.' 'I misdoubt about his head' says she; and I'll warrant you if you give a crust to other folks' children, they're sharp enough to put it in their months by the time they are his age.' 'Well,' says I, for I began to be afraid myself (for what she said was true enough), don't you be fretting, Sally, for he has friends, and he shall never want so long as they can work for him.' Becca, don't feed him so fast, my dear."

"I suppose this little girl is a relation," said the visitor.

"Oh, no, ma'am," was the reply, "none at all; but the neighbors' children take a sort of pride in waiting on Matt; this little lass in particular; and as her mother has no young children at home, she can very well spare her."

By this time the old man, having finished the work he was about, lighted a short pipe, and went out, and the boy with him; little Becca set a stool for him in the sun outside the cottage door, and there he sat basking and apparently enjoying himself, while his grandfather went to his work.

"You see, ma'am," said the woman, "that poor boy can do nothing; but the neighbors are as kind as kind can be; and Mr. Green says sometimes, 'Though this is not a common misfortune,' says he, 'yet your father's being able to work at his time o' life is not a common blessing,' -- for father is nigh upon eighty years of age, and as hale and hearty as some men at sixty. So the old can work for the young, and we are not burdened with both old and young."

"No, that is certainly a blessing," said the visitor, who felt self-reproved when she saw the cheerfulness and industry of this family, particularly of the woman herself; "and no doubt you have done what you can for the poor child; you have tried whether he is capable of being taught anything."

The woman was busy laying the clear-starched articles in a flat basket, and counting them over to her sister, who was about to take them home; when the latter had left the cottage and shut the door behind her, she went on with her ironing and answered her visitor's question.

"Ten years ago, ma'am, I walked over to K-----. It is nigh upon thirty miles from our place, but I had heard say there was a doctor there that folks thought very highly of. So I told him my name was Mary Goddard, and that I had come about a child that was afflicted; and he asked a vast many questions, and by what I said, he said it was easy to tell that the child was paralytic, and had what they call pressure on the brain. But when I asked if he could do anything for him, 'Mary Goddard,' says he 'can he feed himself?' 'No, sir,' says I, 'his hands are too weak.' 'Then,' says he, 'I am afraid it is out of my power to help him; want of sense is less against him than want of power; but I will come and see him.' And so he did, sure enough. May the Almighty reward him, for he would take nothing from us!"