He had big blue eyes, and fair golden curls, and he loved his good mother very dearly, and was never more pleased than when she allowed him to help her with her work.
And so the years passed happily away until the boy was eight years old, but then the widow fell sick, and their little store of money melted gradually away.
"I don't know what we shall do for bread," she said, kissing her boy with tears in her eyes, "for I am not yet strong enough to work, and we have no money left."
"But I can work," answered the boy; "and I'm sure if I go to the Squire up at the Hall he will give me something to do."
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