It was different with Mrs.Foster when she looked from her window at daylight.
George had been restless, and moaned a good deal through the night; but now he slept soundly, and there was a bright flush upon his cheeks.
With what a feeling of tenderness and yearning pity did his mother bend over him, and gaze into his fair face, fairer now than it had ever looked to her.

But she could not linger long over her sleeping boy.
With the daylight, unrefreshed as she was, came her "never ending, still beginning" toil; and now she felt that she must toil harder and longer, and without hope.
Though little Emma's offer to go and work in the mill in her brother's place had passed from the thought of Mrs.Foster, yet the child had been too much in earnest to forget it herself.

Young as she was, the very pressure of circumstances by which she was surrounded had made her comprehend clearly the necessity that existed for George to go and work daily in the mill.

She knew that he earned a dollar and a half weekly; and she understood very well, that without this income her mother would be greatly distressed.
After she had eaten her breakfast of bread and milk, the child went up stairs and got an old pair of stockings, which she drew on over her shoes, that had long been so worn as to afford but little protection to her feet; and then taking from a closet an old shawl, drew it over her head.

Thus attired, she waited at the head of the stairs until her mother was out of the way, and then went quickly down.