Claire pushed himself back from the table， and withoutsaying a word more， went up to his shop in the garret， and satdown to work. There was a troubled and despondent feelingabout his heart. He did not light his pipe as usual， for he hadsmoked up the last of his tobacco on the evening before. Buthe had a penny left， and with that， as soon as he had finishedmending a pair of boots and taken them home， he meant toget a new supply of the fragrant weed. The boots had onlyhalf an hour’s work on them. But a few stitches had beentaken by the cobbler， when he heard the feeble voice of Lizzycalling to him from the bottom of the stairs. That voice nevercame unregarded to his ears. He laid aside his work， and wentdown for his patient child， and as he took her light form in hisarms， and bore her up into his little work-shop， he felt that hepressed against his heart the dearest thing to him in life. Andwith this feeling， came the bitter certainty that soon she wouldpass away and be no more seen. Thomas Claire did not oftenindulge in external manifestations of feeling； but now， as heheld Lizzy in his arms， he bent down his face and kissed hercheek tenderly. A light， like a gleam of sunshine， fell suddenlyupon the pale countenance of the child， while a faint， butloving smile played about her lips. Her father kissed her again，and then laid her upon the little bed that was always ready forher， and once more resumed his work.
Claire’s mind had been awakened from its usual leadenquiet. The wants of his failing child aroused it into disturbedactivity. Thought beat， for a while， like a caged bird， againstthe bars of necessity， and then fluttered back into pantingimbecility.
At last the boots were done， and with his thoughts now moreoccupied with the supply of tobacco he was to obtain than withany thing else， Claire started to take them home. As he walkedalong he passed a fruit-shop， and the thought of Lizzy cameinto his mind.
“If we could afford her some of these nice things！” he saidto himself. “They would be food and medicine both， to thedear child. But，” he added， with a sigh， “we are poor！—we arepoor！ Such dainties are not for the children of poverty.”
He passed along， until he came to the ale-house where heintended to get his pennyworth of tobacco. For the first time athought of self-denial entered his mind， as he stood by the door，with his hand in his pocket， feeling for his solitary copper.
“This would buy Lizzy an orange，” he said to himself.
“But then，” was quickly added， “I would have no tobacco today，nor to-morrow， for I won’t be paid for these boots beforeSaturday， when Barton gets his wages.”
Then came a long， hesitating pause. There was before themind of Claire the image of the faint and feeble child with therefreshing orange to her lips； and there was also the image ofhimself encheered for two long days by his pipe. But couldhe for a moment hesitate， if he really loved that sick child？ isasked. Yes， he could hesitate， and yet love the little sufferer；for to one of his order of mind and habits of acting and feeling，a self-indulgence like that of the pipe， or a regular draught ofbeer， becomes so much like second nature， that it is as it werea part of the very life； and to give it up， costs more than a lighteffort.
The penny was between his fingers， and he took a singlestep toward the ale-house door； but so vividly came back theimage of little Lizzy， that he stopped suddenly. The conflict，even though the spending of a single penny was concerned，now became severe： love for the child plead earnestly， and asearnestly plead the old habit that seemed as if it would take nodenial.
It was his last penny that was between the cobbler’s fingers.
Had there been two pennies in his pocket， all difficulty wouldhave immediately vanished. Having thought of the orange， hewould have bought it with one of them， and supplied his pipewith the other. But， as affairs now stood， he must utterly denyhimself， or else deny his child.
For minutes the question was debated.
“I will see as I come back，” said Claire at last， starting on hiserrand， and thus， for the time， making a sort of a compromise.
As he walked along， the argument still went on in his mind.
The more his thoughts acted in this new channel， the morelight came into the cobbler’s mind， at all times rather dark anddull. Certain discriminations， never before thought of， weremade； and certain convictions forced themselves upon him.
“What is a pipe of tobacco to a healthy man， comparedwith an orange to a sick child！” uttered half-aloud， marked atlast the final conclusion of his mind； and as this was said， thepenny which was still in his fingers was thrust determinedlyinto his pocket.
As he returned home， Claire bought the orange， and in theact experienced a new pleasure. By a kind of necessity he hadworked on， daily， for his family， upon which was expendednearly all of his earnings； and the whole matter came somuch as a thing of course， that it was no subject of consciousthought， and produced no emotion of delight or pain. But， thegiving up of his tobacco for the sake of his little Lizzy wasan act of self-denial entirely out of the ordinary course， and itbrought with it its own sweet reward.