"Are you better, mother, to-day?" asked little Peter, as he went up to the bed on which Widow Gray lay, in a small chamber of their humble abode."I trust so, my boy," she answered, in a doubtful tone, as she gazed fondly on the ruddy, broad, honest face of her only child, and put aside the mass of light hair which clustered curling over his brow, to imprint on it a loving kiss. "I tried to get up to help Betsy when she came to tidy the house, but...