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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 LIBRARY 
 — . SCHOOL 
 
 Wiggm 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 
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38p Eate iDonrjlas W\%$\xi 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A CHRISTMAS CARD. Illustrated in 
 color. 
 
 PENELOPE'S POSTSCRIPTS. With frontispiece. 
 
 THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER. Illustrated. 
 
 THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS CAROL. Holiday Edition. Illus- 
 trated in color. 
 
 A CHILD'S JOURNEY WITH DICKENS. With frontispiece 
 
 MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS. Illustrated 
 
 ROBINETTA. Illustrated. 
 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. Holiday Edition. 
 Illustrated. 
 
 SUSANNA AND SUE. Illustrated. 
 
 THE OLD PEABODY PEW. With decorations and illustrations. 
 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 
 
 NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. Illustrated. 
 
 ROSE O' THE RIVER. Illusirated in color. 
 
 THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. Illustrated. 
 
 THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL. Illustrated. 
 
 A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP, and PENELOPE'S ENG- 
 LISH EXPERIENCES. Illustrated. 
 
 PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. 
 
 PENELOPE'S EXPERIENCES. I. England; II. Scotland; 
 III. Ireland; Holiday Edition. Withmany illustrations by Charles 
 E. Brock. 
 
 A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP. Holiday Edition, enlarged. 
 Illustrated by C. E. Brock. 
 
 THE BIRDS* CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. 
 
 THE STORY OF PATSY. Illustrated. 
 
 A SUMMER IN A CANON. A California Story. Illustrated. 
 
 TIMOTHY'S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who 
 cares to read it. Also Holiday Edition. Illustrated. 
 
 POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. Illustrated. 
 
 THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER. 
 
 MARM LISA. 
 
 NINE LOVE SONGS, AND A CAROL. Music by Mrs. Wiggin. 
 Words by Hbrrick, Sill, and others. 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 Boston and New York. 
 
' ROMANCE 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 CARD 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hi 
 
 http://archive.org/details/romanceofchristmOOwi 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY KATE DOUGLAS RIGGS 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published October iqib 
 
■ . V '"in. • 
 
 
 ■■■* 
 
 Zfyt (Romance 
 of a Cfyvi&tm&B (Darb 
 
 i 
 
 It was Christmas Eve and a Saturday- 
 night when Mrs. Larrabee, the Beulah 
 minister's wife, opened the door of the 
 study where her husband was deep in the 
 revision of his next day's sermon, and 
 thrust in her comely head framed in a 
 knitted rigolette. 
 
&§£ (Romance of 
 
 "Luther, I'm going to run down to 
 Letty's. We think the twins are going to 
 have measles; it's the only thing they 
 have n't had, and Letty's spirits are not 
 up to concert pitch. You look like a 
 blessed old prophet to-night, my dear! 
 What's the text?" 
 
 The minister pushed back his specta- 
 cles and ruffled his gray hair. 
 
 "Isaiah vi, 8: 'And I heard the voice of 
 the Lord, saying whom shall I send? . . . 
 Then said I, Here am I, send me!'" 
 
 11 It does n't sound a bit like Christmas, 
 somehow." 
 
 "It has the spirit, if it hasn't the 
 sound," said the minister. "There is al- 
 ways so little spare money in the village 
 that we get less and less accustomed to 
 sharing what we have with others. I 
 want to remind the people that there are 
 2 
 
(ft CfyxxBtm&tt Cat* 
 
 different ways of giving, and that the be- 
 stowing of one's self in service and good 
 deeds can be the best of all gifts. Letty 
 Boynton won't need the sermon! — Don't 
 be late, Reba." 
 
 "Of course not. When was I ever late? 
 It has just struck seven and I '11 be back 
 by eight to choose the hymns. And oh! 
 Luther, I have some fresh ideas for Christ- 
 mas cards and I am going to try my luck 
 with them in the marts of trade. There 
 are hundreds of thousands of such things 
 sold nowadays; and if the 'Boston Ban- 
 ner' likes my verses well enough to send 
 me the paper regularly, why should n't 
 the people who make cards like them too, 
 especially when I can draw and paint my 
 own pictures?" 
 
 "I've no doubt they'll like them; who 
 would n't? If the parish knew what a 
 3 
 
&>§t (Romance of 
 
 ready pen you have, they'd suspect that 
 you help me in my sermons I The question 
 is, will the publishers send you a check, or 
 only a copy of your card?" 
 
 "I should relish a check, I confess; but 
 oh! I should like almost as well a beauti- 
 fully colored card, Luther, with a picture 
 of my own inventing on it, my own verse, 
 and R. L. in tiny letters somewhere in the 
 corner! It would make such a lovely 
 Christmas present! And I should be so 
 proud; inside of course, not outside! 1 
 would cover my halo with my hat so that 
 nobody in the congregation would ever 
 notice it!" 
 
 The minister laughed. 
 
 "Consult Letty, my dear. David used 
 to be in some sort of picture business in 
 Boston. She will know, perhaps, where to 
 offer your card!" 
 
 4 
 
(ft Cfymtmas Caxb 
 
 At the introduction of a new theme into 
 the conversation Mrs. Larrabee slipped 
 into a chair by the door, her lantern 
 swinging in her hand. 
 
 "David can't be as near as Boston or 
 we should hear of him sometimes. A 
 pretty sort of brother to be meandering 
 foot-loose over the earth, and Letty work- 
 ing her fingers to the bone to support his 
 children — twins at that! It was just like 
 David Gilman to have twins! Does n't it 
 seem incredible that he can let Christmas 
 go by without a message? I dare say he 
 does n't even remember that his babies 
 were born on Christmas eve. To be sure 
 he is only Letty's half-brother, but after 
 all they grew up together and are nearly 
 the same age. " 
 
 "You always judged David a little se- 
 verely, Reba. Don't despair of reforming 
 5 
 
&%<i (Romance of 
 
 any man till you see the grass growing 
 over his bare bones. I always have a soft 
 spot in my heart for him when I remember 
 his friendship for my Dick; but that was 
 before your time. — Oh ! these boys, these 
 boys!" The minister's voice quavered. 
 "We give them our very life-blood. We 
 love them, cherish them, pray over them, 
 do our best to guide them, yet they take 
 the path that leads from home. In some 
 way, God knows how, we fail to call out 
 the return love, or even the filial duty and 
 respect! — Well, we won't talk about it, 
 Reba ; my business is to breathe the breath 
 of life into my text: 'Here am I, Lord, 
 send me!' Letty certainly continues to 
 say it heroically, whatever her troubles." 
 "Yes, Letty is so ready for service that 
 she will always be sent, till the end of 
 time; but if David ever has an interview 
 6 
 
(ft t§mtm&B C&xb 
 
 with his Creator I can hear him say: 
 "Here am I, Lord; send Letty!'" 
 
 The minister laughed again. He 
 laughed freely and easily nowadays. His 
 first wife had been a sort of understudy 
 for a saint, and after a brief but depress- 
 ing connubial experience she had died, 
 leaving him with a boy of six ; a boy who 
 already, at that tender age, seemed to 
 cherish a passionate aversion to virtue in 
 any form — the result, perhaps, of daily 
 doses of the catechism administered by an 
 abnormally pious mother. 
 
 The minister had struggled valiantly 
 with his paternal and parochial cares for 
 twelve lonely years when he met, wooed, 
 and won (very much to his astonishment 
 and exaltation) Reba Crosby. There 
 never was a better bargain driven! She 
 was forty-five by the family Bible but 
 7 
 
&%t (Romance of 
 
 twenty-five in face, heart, and mind, while 
 he would have been printed as sixty in 
 "Who's Who in New Hampshire" al- 
 though he was far older in patience and 
 experience and wisdom. The minister was 
 spiritual, frail, and a trifle prone to self- 
 depreciation ; the minister's new wife was 
 spirited, vigorous, courageous, and clever. 
 She was also Western-born, college-bred, 
 good as gold, and invincibly, incurably 
 gay. The minister grew younger every 
 year, for Reba doubled his joys and halved 
 his burdens, tossing them from one of her 
 fine shoulders to the other as if they were 
 feathers. She swept into the quiet village 
 life of Beulah like a salt sea breeze. She 
 infused a new spirit into the bleak church 
 "sociables" and made them positively 
 agreeable functions. The choir ceased 
 from wrangling, the Sunday School 
 3 
 
(ft Cfyxiztma* Cavb 
 
 plucked up courage and flourished like a 
 green bay tree. She managed the deacons, 
 she braced up the missionary societies, 
 she captivated the parish, she cheered 
 the depressed and depressing old ladies 
 and cracked jokes with the invalids. 
 
 "Ain't she a little mite too jolly for a 
 minister's wife?" questioned Mrs. Ossian 
 Popham, who was a professional pessimist. 
 
 "If this world is a place of want, woe, 
 wantonness, an' wickedness, same as you 
 claim, Maria, I don't see how a minister's 
 wife can be too jolly! " was her husband's 
 cheerful reply. "Look how she's melted 
 up the ice in both congregations, so 't the 
 other church is most willin' we should 
 prosper, so long as Mis' Larrabee stays 
 here an' we don't get too fur ahead of 'em 
 in attendance. Me for the smiles, Maria ! " 
 
 And Osh Popham was right; for Reba 
 
%,%*, (Romance of 
 
 Larrabee convinced the members of the 
 rival church (the rivalry between the two 
 being in rigidity of creed, not in persist- 
 ency in good works) that there was room 
 in heaven for at least two denominations; 
 and said that if they could n't unite in this 
 world, perhaps they'd get round to it in 
 the next. Finally, she saved Letitia Boyn- 
 ton's soul alive by giving her a warm, un- 
 derstanding friendship, and she even con- 
 tracted to win back the minister's absent 
 son some time or other, and convince him 
 of the error of his ways. 
 
 ''Let Dick alone a little longer, Lu- 
 ther," she would say; "don't hurry him, 
 for he won't come home so long as he's a 
 failure; it would please the village too 
 much, and Dick hates the village. He 
 does n't accept our point of view, that we 
 must love our enemies and bless them that 
 10 
 
(ft Cfyx\*tM&* Caxb 
 
 despitefully use us. The village did de- 
 spitefully use Dick, and for that matter, 
 David Gilman too. They were criticized, 
 gossiped about, judged without mercy. 
 Nobody believed in them, nobody ever 
 praised them ; — and what is that about 
 praise being the fructifying sun in which 
 our virtues ripen, or something like that? 
 I 'm not quoting it right, but I wish I 'd 
 said it. They were called wild when most 
 of their wildness was exuberant vitality; 
 their mistakes were magnified, their mad 
 pranks exaggerated. If I 'd been married 
 to you, my dear, while Dick was growing 
 up, I would n't have let you keep him here 
 in this little backwater of life; he needed 
 more room, more movement. They would 
 n't have been so down on him in Racine, 
 Wisconsin!" 
 
 Mrs. Larrabee lighted her lantern, 
 11 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 closed the door behind her, and walked 
 briskly down the lonely road that led from 
 the parsonage at Beulah Corner to Letitia 
 Boynton's house. It was bright moonlight 
 and the ground was covered with light- 
 fallen snow, but the lantern habit was a 
 fixed one among Beulah ladies, who, even 
 when they were not widows or spinsters, 
 made their evening calls mostly without 
 escort. The light of a lantern not only 
 enabled one to pick the better side of a bad 
 road, but would illuminate the face of any 
 male stranger who might be of a burglari- 
 ous or murderous disposition. Reba Lar- 
 rabee was not a timid person; indeed, 
 she was wont to say that men were so 
 scarce in Beulah that unless they were 
 out-and-out ruffians it would be an in- 
 spiration to meet a few, even if it were 
 only to pass them in the middle of the road. 
 12 
 
(21 C§x%Btma& C&xb 
 
 There was a light in the meeting-house 
 as she passed, and then there was a long 
 stretch of shining white silence unmarked 
 by any human habitation till she came to 
 the tumble-down black cottage inhabited 
 by " Door-Button" Davis, as the little old 
 man was called in the village. In the dis- 
 tance she could see Osh Popham's two- 
 story house brilliantly illuminated by ker- 
 osene lamps, and as she drew nearer she 
 even descried Ossian himself, seated at the 
 cabinet organ in his shirt-sleeves, practic- 
 ing the Christmas anthem, his daughter 
 holding a candle to the page while she 
 struggled to adjust a circuitous alto to her 
 father's tenor. On the hither side of the 
 Popham house, and quite obscured by it, 
 stood Letitia Boynton's one-story gray 
 cottage. It had a clump of tall cedar trees 
 for background and the bare branches of 
 13 
 
*&§t (Romance of 
 
 the elms in front were hung lightly with 
 snow garlands. As Mrs. Larrabee came 
 closer, she set down her lantern and looked 
 fixedly at the familiar house as if some- 
 thing new arrested her gaze. 
 
 "It looks like a little night-light!" she 
 thought. "And how queer of Letty to be 
 sitting at the open window!" 
 
 Nearer still she crept, yet not so near 
 as to startle her friend. A tall brass can- 
 dlestick, with a lighted tallow candle in 
 it, stood on the table in the parlor win- 
 dow; but the room in which Letty sat 
 was unlighted save by the fire on the 
 hearth, which gleamed brightly behind 
 the quaint andirons — Hessian soldiers of 
 iron, painted in gay colors. Over the man- 
 tel hung the portrait of Letty's mother, a 
 benign figure clad in black silk, the hand- 
 some head topped by a snowy muslin cap 
 14 
 
(ft C§x\&tm&* Caxb 
 
 with floating strings. Just round the cor- 
 ner of the fireplace was a half-open door 
 leading into a tiny bedroom, and the flick- 
 ering flame lighted the heads of two sleep- 
 ing children, arms interlocked, bright 
 tangled curls flowing over one pillow. 
 
 Letty herself sat in a low chair by the 
 open window wrapped in an old cape of 
 ruddy brown homespun, from the folds of 
 which her delicate head rose like a flower 
 in a bouquet of autumn leaves. One elbow 
 rested on the table; her chin in the cup of 
 her hand. Her head was turned away a 
 little so that one could see only the knot of 
 bronze hair, the curve of a cheek, and the 
 sweep of an eyelash. 
 
 "What a picture!" thought Reba. 
 "The very thing for my Christmas card! 
 It would do almost without a change, if 
 only she is willing to let me use her." 
 15 
 
(ft CfyxxztmcM Caxb 
 
 "Wake up, Letty!" she called. "Come 
 and let me in ! — Why, your front door 
 is n't closed!" 
 
 "The fire smoked a little when I first 
 lighted it," said Letty, rising when her 
 friend entered, and then softly shutting 
 the bedroom door that the children might 
 not waken. "The night is so mild and the 
 room so warm, I could n't help opening the 
 window to look at the moon on the snow. 
 Sit down, Reba ! How good of you to come 
 when you 've been rehearsing for the Christ- 
 mas Tree exercises all the afternoon." 
 
II 
 
 "It's never 'good' of me to come to talk 
 with you, Letty!" And the minister's 
 wife sank into a comfortable seat and took 
 off her rigolette. " Enough virtue has gone 
 out of me to-day to Christianize an entire 
 heathen nation! Oh! how I wish Luther 
 would go and preach to a tribe of canni- 
 bals somewhere, and make me superin- 
 tendent of the Sabbath-School! How I 
 should like to deal, just for a change, with 
 some simple problem like the undesira- 
 17 
 
Zfy (Romance of 
 
 bility and indigestibility involved in de- 
 vouring your next-door neighbor! Now 
 I pass my life in saying, ' Love your neigh- 
 bor as yourself; which is far more dif- 
 ficult than to say, ' Don't eat your neigh- 
 bor, it 's such a disgusting habit, — and 
 wrong besides,' — though I dare say they 
 do it half the time because the market 
 is bad. The first thing I'd do would be 
 to get my cannibals to raise sheep. If they 
 ate more mutton, they would n't eat so 
 many missionaries." 
 
 Letty laughed. "You're so funny, 
 Reba dear, and I was so sad before you 
 came in. Don't let the minister take you 
 to the cannibals until after I die!" 
 
 "No danger! — Letty, do you remem- 
 ber I told you I 'd been trying my hand on 
 some verses for a Christmas card?" 
 
 "Yes; have you sent them anywhere?" 
 18 
 
(ft Cfyxiztma* C&xb 
 
 " Not yet. I could n't think of the right 
 decoration and color scheme and was 
 afraid to trust it all to the publishers. 
 Now I've found just what I need for one 
 of them, and you gave it to me, Letty!" 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes, you ; to-night, as I came down the 
 road. The house looked so quaint, backed 
 by the dark cedars, and the moon and the 
 snow made everything - lazzling. I could 
 see the firelight through the open window, 
 the Hessian soldier andirons, your moth- 
 er's portrait, the children asleep in the 
 next room, and you, wrapped in your cape 
 waiting or watching for something or 
 somebody." 
 
 " I wasn't watching or waiting! I was 
 dreaming," said Letty hurriedly. 
 
 "You looked as if you were watching, 
 anyway, and I thought if I were painting 
 
 19 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 the picture I would call it 'Expectancy,' 
 or 'The Vigil,' or 'Sentry Duty.' How- 
 ever, when I make you into a card, Letty, 
 nobody will know what the figure at the 
 window means, till they read my verses." 
 
 "I'll give you the house, the room, the 
 andirons, and even mother's portrait, but 
 you don't mean that you want to put me 
 on the card?" And Letty turned like a 
 startled deer as she rose and brushed a 
 spark from the hearth-rug. 
 
 "No, not the whole of you, of course, 
 though I'm not clever enough to get a 
 likeness even if I wished. I merely want 
 to make a color sketch of your red-brown 
 cape, your hair that matches it, your ear, 
 an inch of cheek, and the eyelashes of one 
 eye, if you please, ma'am." 
 
 "That does n't sound quite so terrify- 
 ing." And Letty looked more manageable. 
 20 
 
(ft C§x\*tmbB Ccvcb 
 
 "Nobody '11 ever know that a real per- 
 son sat at a real window and that I saw her 
 there; but when I send the card with a 
 finished picture, and my verses beauti- 
 fully lettered on it, the printing people 
 will be more likely to accept it." 
 
 "And if they do, shall I have a dozen to 
 give to my Bible-class? " asked Letty in a 
 wheedling voice. 
 
 "You shall have more than that! I'm 
 willing to divide my magnificent profits 
 with you. You will have furnished the 
 picture and I the verses. It's wonderful, 
 Letty, — it's providential! You just are 
 a Christmas card to-night! It seems so 
 strange that you even put the lighted 
 candle in the window when you never 
 heard my verse. The candle caught my 
 eye first, and I remembered the Christ- 
 mas customs we studied for the church 
 21 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 festival, — the light to guide the Christ 
 Child as he walks through the dark streets 
 on the Eve of Mary." 
 
 "Yes, I thought of that," said Letty, 
 flushing a little. "I put the candle there 
 first so that the house should n't be all 
 dark when the Pophams went by to choir- 
 meeting, and just then I — I remembered, 
 and was glad I did it!" 
 
 "These are my verses, Letty." And 
 Reba's voice was soft as she turned her 
 face away and looked at the flames mount- 
 ing upward in the chimney : — 
 
 My door is on the latch to-night, 
 
 The hearth fire is aglow. 
 I seem to hear swift passing feet, — 
 
 The Christ Child in the snow. 
 
 My heart is open wide to-night 
 
 For stranger, kith or kin. 
 I would not bar a single door 
 
 Where Love might enter in! 
 
 22 
 
(ft C$X\*tMM C&tf) 
 
 There was a moment's silence and Letty 
 broke it. "It means the sort of love the 
 Christ Child brings, with peace and good- 
 will in it. I 'm glad to be a part of that card, 
 Reba, so long as nobody knows me, and — " 
 
 Here she made an impetuous movement 
 and, covering her eyes with her hands, 
 burst into a despairing flood of confidence, 
 the words crowding each other and tum- 
 bling out of her mouth as if they feared to 
 be stopped. 
 
 "After I put the candle on the table . . . 
 I could not rest for thinking ... I was n't 
 ready in my soul to light the Christ Child 
 on his way ... I was bitter and unre- 
 signed . . . It is three years to-night since 
 the children were born . . . and each year 
 I have hoped and waited and waited and 
 hoped, thinking that David might remem- 
 ber. David! my brother, their father! 
 23 
 
£§e (Romance of 
 
 Then the fire on the hearth, the moon and 
 the snow quieted me, and I felt that I 
 wanted to open the door, just a little. No 
 one will notice that it's ajar, I thought, 
 but there 's a touch of welcome in it, any- 
 way. And after a few minutes I said to 
 myself: 'It's no use, David won't come; 
 but I 'm glad the firelight shines on moth- 
 er's picture, for he loved mother, and if she 
 had n't died when he was scarcely more 
 than a boy, things might have been differ- 
 ent. . . . The reason I opened the bedroom 
 door — something I never do when the 
 babies are asleep — was because I needed 
 a sight of their faces to reconcile me to my 
 duty and take the resentment out of my 
 heart . . . and it did flow out, Reba, — 
 out into the stillness. It is so dazzling 
 white outside, I could n't bear my heart 
 to be shrouded in gloom!" 
 
 24 
 
(& Cfyxx&tmcM Caxb 
 
 " Poor Letty!" And Mrs. Larrabee fur- 
 tively wiped away a tear. "How long 
 since you have heard? I did n't dare ask." 
 
 " Not a word, not a line for nearly three 
 months, and for the half-year before that 
 it was nothing but a note, sometimes with 
 a five-dollar bill enclosed. David seems to 
 think it the natural thing for me to look 
 after his children; as if there could be no 
 question of any life of my own." 
 
 "You began wrong, Letty. You were 
 born a prop and you've been propping 
 somebody ever since." 
 
 " I 've done nothing but my plain duty. 
 When my mother died there was my step- 
 father to nurse, but I was young and 
 strong; I did n't mind; and he was n't a 
 burden long, poor father. Then, after four 
 years came the shock of David's reckless 
 marriage. When he asked if he might 
 25 
 
&%t (Romans of 
 
 bring that girl here until her time of trial 
 was over, it seemed to me I could never 
 endure it! But there were only two of us 
 left, David and I ; I thought of mother and 
 said yes." 
 
 "I remember, Letty; I had come to 
 Beulah then." 
 
 "Yes, and you know what Eva was. 
 How David, how anybody, could have 
 loved her, I cannot think! Well, he 
 brought her, and you know how it turned 
 out. David never saw her alive again, nor 
 ever saw his babies after they were three 
 days old. Still, what can you expect of a 
 father who is barely twenty-one?" 
 
 "If he's old enough to have children, 
 he's old enough to notice them," said 
 Mrs. Larrabee with her accustomed spirit. 
 "Somebody ought to jog his sense of re- 
 sponsibility. It's wrong for women to 
 26 
 
(ft C§x\&tma& Caxb 
 
 assume men's burdens beyond a certain 
 point; it only makes them more selfish. If 
 you only knew where David is, you ought 
 to bundle the children up and express 
 them to his address. Not a word of expla- 
 nation or apology; simply tie a tag on 
 them, saying, 'Here's your Twins!'" 
 
 "But I love the babies," said Letty 
 smiling through her tears, "and David 
 may not be in a position to keep them." 
 
 "Then he should n't have had them," 
 retorted Reba promptly; "especially not 
 two of them. There's such a thing as a 
 man's being too lavish with babies when 
 he has no intention of doing anything for 
 them but bring them into the world. If 
 you had a living income, it would be one 
 thing, but it makes me burn to have you 
 stitching on coats to feed and clothe your 
 half-brother's children!" 
 27 
 
ۤt (Romance of 
 
 " Perhaps it does n't make any differ- 
 ence — now!" sighed Letty, pushing back 
 her hair with an abstracted gesture. "I 
 gave up a good deal for the darlings once, 
 but that's past and gone. Now, after all, 
 they 're the only life I have, and I 'd rather 
 make coats for them than for myself." 
 
 Letty Boynton had never said so much 
 as this to Mrs. Larrabee in the three years 
 of their friendship, and on her way back to 
 the parsonage, the minister's wife puzzled 
 a little over the look in Letty' s face when 
 she said, "David seemed to think there 
 could be no question of any life of my 
 own " ; and again, " I gave up a good deal 
 for the darlings once!" 
 
 "Luther," she said to the minister, 
 when the hymns had been chosen, the ser- 
 mon pronounced excellent, and they were 
 toasting their toes over the sitting-room 
 28 
 
(ft C§x\*tm&8 Caxb 
 
 fire, — "Luther, do you suppose there 
 ever was anything between Letty Boyn- 
 ton and your Dick?" 
 
 "No," he answered reflectively, "I 
 don't think so. Dick always admired 
 Letty and went to the house a great deal, 
 but I imagine that was chiefly for David's 
 sake, for they were as like as peas in a pod 
 in the matter of mischief. If there had 
 been more than friendship between Dick 
 and Letty, Dick would never have gone 
 away from Beulah, or if he had gone, he 
 surely would have come back to see how 
 Letty fared. A fellow yearns for news of 
 the girl he loves even when he is content to 
 let silence reign between him and his old 
 father. — What makes you think there 
 was anything particular, Reba?" 
 
 "What makes anybody think anything! 
 — I wonder why some people are born 
 
 29 
 
&§t (Romans of 
 
 props, and others leaners or twiners? I 
 believe the very nursing-bottle leaned 
 heavily against Letty when she lay on her 
 infant pillow. I did n't know her when she 
 was a child, but I believe that when she 
 was eight all the other children of three 
 and five in the village looked to her for 
 support and guidance!" 
 
 "It's a great vocation — that of being 
 a prop," smiled the minister, as he peeled 
 a red Baldwin apple, carefully preserving 
 the spiral and eating it first. 
 
 "I suppose the wobbly vine thinks it's 
 grand to be a stout trellis when it needs 
 one to climb on, but does n't the trellis 
 ever want to twine, I wonder?" And 
 Reba's tone was doubtful. 
 
 "Even the trellis leans against the 
 house, Reba." 
 
 "Well, Letty never gets a chance either 
 
 30 
 
(ft Cfymtma* Caxb 
 
 to lean or to twine! Her family, her 
 friends, her acquaintances, even the 
 stranger within her gates, will pass trees, 
 barber poles, telephone and telegraph 
 poles, convenient corners of buildings, 
 fence posts, ladders, and lightning rods for 
 the sake of winding their weakness around 
 her strength. When she sits down from 
 sheer exhaustion, they come and prop 
 themselves against her back. If she goes 
 to bed, they climb up on the footboard, 
 hang a drooping head, and look her wist- 
 fully in the eye for sympathy. Prop on, 
 prop ever, seems to be the underlying law 
 of the universe!" 
 
 "Poor Reba! She is talking of Letty 
 and thinking of herself!" And the min- 
 ister's eye twinkled. 
 
 "Well, a little!" admitted his wife; 
 " but I 'm only a village prop, not a family 
 31 
 
(ft Cfywtmto Carb 
 
 one. Where you are concerned" — and 
 she administered an affectionate pat to his 
 cheek as she rose from her chair — " I 'm 
 a trellis that leans against a rock!" 
 

 Ill 
 
 Letitia Boynton's life had been rather a 
 drab one as seen through other people's 
 eyes, but it had never seemed so to her till 
 within the last few years. Her own father 
 had been the village doctor, but of him she 
 had no memory. Her mother's second 
 marriage to a venerable country lawyer, 
 John Gilman, had brought a kindly, ineffi- 
 cient stepfather into the family, a man 
 who speedily became an invalid needing 
 constant nursing. The birth of David 
 33 
 
&§t (Romans of 
 
 when Letty was three years old, brought a 
 new interest into the household, and the 
 two children grew to be fast friends; but 
 when Mrs. Gilman died, and Letty found 
 herself at eighteen the mistress of the 
 house, the nurse of her aged stepfather, 
 and the only guardian of a boy of fifteen, 
 life became difficult. More difficult still it 
 became when the old lawyer died, for he 
 at least had been a sort of fictitious head 
 of the family and his mere existence kept 
 David within bounds. 
 
 David was a lively, harum-scarum, 
 handsome youth, good at his lessons, pop- 
 ular with his companions, always in a 
 scrape, into which he was generally drawn 
 by the minister's son, so the neighbors 
 thought. At any rate, Dick Larrabee, as 
 David's senior, received the lion's share of 
 the blame when mischief was abroad. If 
 34 
 
(ft CfyxxstmcM Catb 
 
 Parson Larrabee's boy could n't behave 
 any better than an unbelieving black- 
 smith's, a Methodist farmer's, or a Bap- 
 tist storekeeper's, what was the use of 
 claiming superior efficacy for the Congre- 
 gational form of belief? 
 
 "Dick's father's never succeeded in 
 bringing him into the church, though he 's 
 worked on him from the time he was knee- 
 high to a toad," said Mrs. Popham. 
 
 "P'raps his mother kind o' vaccinated 
 him with religion 'stid o' leavin' him to 
 take it the natural way, as the ol' sayin' 
 is," was her husband's response. "The 
 first Mis' Larrabee was as good as gold, 
 but she may have overdone the trick a 
 little mite, mebbe; and what's more, I 
 kind o' suspicion the parson thinks so 
 himself. He ain't never been quite the 
 same sence Dick left home, 'cept in 
 35 
 
*&%t (Romance of 
 
 preachin' ; an' I tell you, Maria, his high- 
 water mark there is higher 'n ever. Abel 
 Dunn o' Boston walked home from meet- 
 in' with me Thanksgivin', an', says he, 
 takin' off his hat an' moppin' his forehead, 
 'Osh,' says he, 'does your minister preach 
 like that every Sunday? ' ' No,' says I, ' he 
 don't. If he did we could n't stan' it! He 
 preaches like that about once a month, 
 an' we don't care what he says the rest o' 
 the time.' " 
 
 "Well, so far as boys are concerned, 
 preachin' ain't so reliable, for behavin' 
 purposes, as a good young alder switch," 
 was the opinion of Mrs. Popham, her chil- 
 dren being of the comatose kind, whose 
 minds had never been illuminated by the 
 dazzling idea of disobedience. 
 
 " Land sakes, Maria! There ain't alders 
 enough on the river-bank to switch reli- 
 36 
 
(ft CfyxiBtmoB Caxb 
 
 gion into a boy like Dick Larrabee. It's 
 got to come like a thief in the night, as the 
 oP say in' is, but I guess I don't mean thief, 
 I guess I mean star: it's got to come kind 
 o' like a star in a dark night. If the whole 
 village, 'generate an' onregenerate, had n't 
 'a' kep' on naggin' an' hectorin' an' criti- 
 cizin' them two boys, Dick an' Dave, — 
 carryin' tales an' multiplyin' of 'em by 
 two, ' ong root, 1 as the oP say in' is, — I 
 dare say they'd 'a' both been here yet; 
 'stid o' roamin' roun' the earth seekin' 
 whom they may devour." 
 
 There was considerable truth in Ossian 
 Popham's remark, as Letty could have 
 testified; for the conduct of the Boyn- 
 ton-Gilman household, as well as that 
 of the minister, had been continually 
 under inspection and discussion. 
 
 Nothing could remain long hidden in 
 37 
 
G>$t (Romans of 
 
 Beulah. Nobody spied, nobody pried, 
 nobody listened at doors or windows, no- 
 body owned a microscope, nobody took 
 any particular notice of events, or if they 
 did they preserved an attitude of profound 
 indifference while doing it, — yet every- 
 thing was known sooner or later. The 
 amount of the fish and meat bill, the pre- 
 cise extent of credit, the number of letters 
 in the post, the amount of fuel burned, 
 the number of absences from church and 
 prayer-meeting, the calls or visits made 
 and received, the hours of arrival or de- 
 parture, the source of all incomes, — these 
 details were the common property of the 
 village. It even took cognizance of more 
 subtle things; for it observed and re- 
 corded the fluctuations of all love affairs, 
 and the fluctuations also in the religious 
 experiences of various persons not always 
 3S 
 
(ft Cfycistnt&s Caxb 
 
 in spiritual equilibrium; for the soul was 
 an object of scrutiny in Beulah, as well 
 as mind, body, and estate. 
 
 Letty Boynton used to feel that nothing 
 was exclusively her own ; that she belonged 
 to Beulah part and parcel ; but Dick Lar- 
 rabee was far more restive under the vil- 
 lage espionage than were she and David. 
 
 It was natural that David should want 
 to leave Beulah and make his way in the 
 world, and his sister did not oppose it. 
 Dick's circumstances were different. He 
 had inherited a small house and farm from 
 his mother, had enjoyed a college educa- 
 tion, and had been offered a share in a 
 good business in a city twelve miles away. 
 He left Beulah because he hated it. He 
 left because he could not endure his fa- 
 ther's gentle remonstrances or the be- 
 wilderment in his stepmother's eyes. She 
 39 
 
fyty (Romance of 
 
 was a newcomer in the household and her 
 glance seemed to say: "Why on earth do 
 you behave so badly to your father when 
 you're such a delightful chap?" He left 
 because Deacon Todd had prayed for him 
 publicly at a Christian Endeavor meeting; 
 because Mrs. Popham had circulated a 
 wholly baseless scandal about him; and 
 finally because in his young misery the 
 only being who could have comforted him 
 by joining her hapless fortunes to his had 
 refused to do so. He did n't know why. 
 He had always counted on Letty when the 
 time should come to speak the word. He 
 had shown his heart in everything but 
 words; what more did a girl want? Of 
 course, if any one preferred a purely fan- 
 tastic duty to a man's love, and allowed a 
 scapegrace brother to foist two red-faced, 
 squalling babies on her, there was nothing 
 40 
 
(§ Cfymtma* Caxb 
 
 to be said. So, in this frame of mind he 
 had had one flaming, passionate, wrong- 
 headed scene with his father, and strode 
 out of Beulah with dramatic gestures of 
 shaking its dust off his feet. His father, 
 roused for once from his lifelong pa- 
 tience, had been rather terrible in that 
 last scene; so terrible that he had never 
 forgiven himself, or really believed him- 
 self fully forgiven by God, though his son 
 had alienated half the village and nearly 
 rent the parish in twain by his conduct. 
 As for Letty, she held her peace. She 
 could only hope that the minister and his 
 wife suspected nothing, and she was sure 
 of Beulah's point of view. That a girl 
 would never give up a suitor, if she had 
 any hope of tying him to her for life, was 
 a popular form of belief in the commun- 
 ity; and strangely enough it was chiefly the 
 41 
 
£§e (Romans of 
 
 women, not the men, who made it current. 
 Now and then a soft-hearted and chival- 
 rous male would observe indulgently of 
 some village beauty, " I should n't wonder 
 a mite if she could 'a' had Bill for the ask- 
 in'"; but this opinion would be met by 
 such a chorus of feminine incredulity that 
 its author generally withdrew it as un- 
 sound and untenable. 
 
 It was then, when Dick had gone away, 
 that the days had grown drab and long f 
 but the twins kept Letty's inexperienced 
 hands busy, though in the first year she 
 had the help of old Miss Clarissa Perry, 
 a childless expert in the bringing-up of 
 babies. 
 
 The friendship of Reba Larrabee, so 
 
 bright and cheery and comprehending, 
 
 was a never-ending solace. There was 
 
 nothing of the martyr about Letty. She 
 
 42 
 
(21 Cfywtnxas Caxb 
 
 was not wholly resigned to her lot, and to 
 tell the truth she did not intend to be, for 
 a good many years yet. 
 
 " I 'm not a minister, but I 'm the wife of 
 a minister, which is the next best thing," 
 Mrs. Larrabee used to say. "I tell you, 
 Letty, there's no use in human creatures 
 being resigned till their bodies are fairly 
 worn out with fighting. When you can't 
 think of another mortal thing to do, be 
 resigned; but I'm convinced that the 
 Lord is ashamed of us when we fold our 
 hands too soon!" 
 
 "You were born courageous, Reba!" 
 And Letty would look admiringly at the 
 rosy cheeks and bright eyes of her friend. 
 
 "My blood circulates freely; that helps 
 
 me a lot. Everybody's blood circulates in 
 
 Racine, Wisconsin." — And the minister's 
 
 wife laughed genially. "Yours, here- 
 
 43 
 
&%t (Romans of 
 
 abouts, freezes up in your six months of 
 cold weather, and when it begins to thaw 
 out the snow is ready to fall again. That 
 sort of thing induces depression, although 
 no mere climate would account for Mrs. 
 Popham. — Ossian said to Luther the 
 other day: 'Maria ain't hardly to blame, 
 parson. She come from a gloomy stock. 
 The Ladds was all gloomy, root and 
 branch. They say that the Ladd babies 
 was always discouraged two days after 
 they was born.' " 
 
 The cause of Letty's chief heartache, 
 the one that she could reveal to nobody, 
 was that her brother should leave her now- 
 adays so completely to her own resources. 
 She recalled the time when he came home 
 from Boston, pale, haggard, ashamed, and 
 told her of his marriage, months before. 
 She could read in his lack-lustre eyes, and 
 44 
 
(& C§x\8tma* Caxb 
 
 hear in his voice, the absence of love, the 
 fear of the future. That was bad enough, 
 but presently he said: "Letty, there's 
 more to tell. I Ve no money, and no place 
 to put my wife, but there 's a child coming. 
 Can I bring her here till — afterwards? 
 You won't like her, but she 's so ailing and 
 despondent just now that I think she'll 
 behave herself, and I '11 take her away as 
 soon as she's able to travel. She would 
 never stay here in the country, anyway; 
 you could n't hire her to do it." 
 
 She came: black-haired, sullen-faced 
 Eva, with a vulgar beauty of her own, much 
 damaged by bad temper, discontent, and 
 illness. Oh, those terrible weeks for Letty, 
 hiding her own misery, putting on a brave 
 face with the neighbors, keeping the un- 
 welcome sister-in-law in the background. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, and Eva raged 
 45 
 
t>§t (Romans of 
 
 against the climate, the house, the lack of 
 a servant, the absence of gayety, and 
 above all at the prospect of motherhood. 
 Her resentment against David, for some 
 reason unknown to Letty, was deep and 
 profound and she made no secret of it; 
 until the outraged Letty, goaded into 
 speech one day, said: "Listen, Eva! Da- 
 vid brought you here because his sister's 
 house was the proper place for you just 
 now. I don't know why you married each 
 other, but you did, and it 's evidently a fail- 
 ure. I'm going to stand by David and 
 see you through this trouble, but while 
 you 're under my roof you '11 have to speak 
 respectfully of my brother; not so much 
 because he's my brother, but because he's 
 your husband and the father of the child 
 that's coming: — do you understand?" 
 Letty had a good deal of red in her 
 46 
 
(ft C§x\8tm<X8 Caxb 
 
 bronze hair and her brown eyes were as 
 capable of flashing fire as Eva's black 
 ones; so the girl not only refrained from 
 venting her spleen upon the absent David, 
 but ceased to talk altogether, and the 
 gloom in the house was as black as if 
 Mrs. Popham and all her despondent an- 
 cestors were living under its roof. 
 
 The good doctor called often and did 
 his best, shrugging his shoulders and lifting 
 his eyebrows as he said : "Let her work out 
 her own salvation. I doubt if she can, 
 but we'll give her the chance. If the prob- 
 lem can be solved, the child will do it." 
 
IV 
 
 Well, the problem never was solved, 
 never in this world, at least; and those 
 who were in the sitting-room chamber 
 when Eva was shown her two babies lying 
 side by side on a pillow, never forgot the 
 quick glance of horrified incredulity, or 
 the shriek of aversion with which she 
 greeted them. 
 
 Letty had a sense of humor, and it must 
 be confessed that when the scorned and 
 discarded babies were returned to her, and 
 48 
 
(ft C§n*tm<X8 Caxb 
 
 she sat by the kitchen stove trying to plan 
 a second bottle, a second cradle, and see 
 how far the expected baby could divide its 
 modest outfit with the unexpected one, 
 she burst into a fit of hysterical laughter 
 mingled with an outpour of tears. 
 
 The doctor came in from the sick-room 
 puzzled and crestfallen from his interview 
 with an entirely new specimen of woman- 
 kind. He had brought Letty and David 
 into the world and soothed the last days of 
 all her family, and now in this tragedy — 
 for tragedy it was — he was her only con- 
 fidant and adviser. 
 
 Letty looked at him, the tears stream- 
 ing from her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Doctor Lee, Doctor Lee! If an 
 overruling Providence could smile, would 
 n't He smile now? David and Eva never 
 wanted to marry each other, I 'm sure 
 
 49 
 
*tfy (Romance of 
 
 of it, and the last thing they desired was 
 a child. Now there are two of them. 
 Their father is away, their mother won't 
 look at them! What will become of me 
 until Eva gets well and behaves like a hu- 
 man being? I never promised to be an 
 aunt to twins; I never did like twins; I 
 think they're downright vulgar!" 
 
 "Waly waly! bairns are bonny: 
 One's enough and twa's ower mony," 
 
 quoted the doctor. "It's worse even than 
 you think, my poor Letty, for the girl 
 ■can't get well, because she won't! She has 
 gritted her teeth, turned her face to the 
 wall, and refused her food. It's the begin- 
 ning of the end. You are far likelier to be a 
 foster mother than an aunt!" 
 
 Letty' s face changed and softened and 
 her color rose. She leaned over the two 
 pink, crumpled creatures, still twitching 
 50 
 
'COME TO YOUR AUNT LETTY THEN AND BE 
 MOTHERED!" SHE SOBBED 
 
(ft CfyxxBtm&B Catb 
 
 nervously with the amazement and dis- 
 comfort of being alive. 
 
 " Come to your Aunt Letty then and be 
 mothered!" she sobbed, lifting the pillow 
 and taking it, with its double burden, into 
 her arms. " You shan't suffer, poor inno- 
 cent darlings, even if those who brought 
 you into the world turn away from you! 
 Come to your Aunt Letty and be moth- 
 ered!" 
 
 "That's right, that's right," said the 
 doctor over a lump in his throat. "We 
 must n't let the babies pay the penalty of 
 their parents' sins; and there's one thing 
 that may soften your anger a little, Letty : 
 Eva's not right; she's not quite respon- 
 sible. There are cases where motherhood, 
 that should be a joy, brings nothing but 
 mental torture and perversion of instinct. 
 Try and remember that, if it helps you 
 51 
 
G>$t (Romance of 
 
 any. I '11 drop in every two or three hours 
 and I '11 write David to come at once. He 
 must take his share of the burden." 
 
 Well, David came, but Eva was in her 
 coffin. He was grave and silent, and it 
 could not be said that he showed a trace of 
 fatherly pride. He was very young, it is 
 true, thoroughly ashamed of himself, very 
 unhappy, and anxious about his new 
 cares; but Letty could not help thinking 
 that he regarded the twins as a sort of 
 personal insult, — perhaps not on their 
 own part, nor on Eva's, but as an accident 
 that might have been prevented by a com- 
 petent Providence. At any rate, he car- 
 ried himself as a man with a grievance, 
 and when he looked at his offspring, which 
 was seldom, it seemed to Letty that he 
 regarded the second one as an unnecessary 
 intruder and cherished a secret resent- 
 52 
 
(g. C§x\*tm<x* Caxb 
 
 ment at its audacity in coming to this 
 planet uninvited. He went back to his 
 work in Boston without its having crossed 
 his mind that anybody but his sister could 
 take care of his children. He did n't really 
 regard them as children or human beings ; 
 it takes a woman's vision to make that 
 sort of leap into the future. Until a new- 
 born baby can show some personal beauty, 
 evince some intellect, stop squirming and 
 squealing, and exhibit enough self-control 
 to let people sleep at night, it is not, as 
 a rule, persona grata to any one but its 
 mother. 
 
 David did say vaguely to Letty when he 
 was leaving, that he hoped " they would be 
 good," the screams that rent the air at the 
 precise moment of farewell rather giving 
 the lie to his hopes. 
 
 Letty was struggling to end the inter- 
 53 
 
G,%t (Romance of 
 
 view without breaking down, for she was 
 worn out nervously as well as physically, 
 and thought if she could only be alone 
 with her problems and her cares she would 
 rather write to David than tell him her 
 mind face to face. 
 
 Brother and sister held each other 
 tightly for a moment, kissed each other 
 good-bye, and then Letty watched Osh 
 Popham's sleigh slipping off with David 
 into the snowy distance, the merry tinkle 
 of the bells adding to the sadness in her 
 dreary heart. Dick gone yesterday, Dave 
 to-day; Beulah without Dick and Dave! 
 The two joys of her life were missing and 
 in their places two unknown babies whose 
 digestive systems were going to need con- 
 stant watching, according to Dr. Lee. 
 Then she went about with set lips, doing 
 the last sordid things that death brings in 
 54 
 
(ft C§x\*tm<XB Catb 
 
 its wake; doing them as she had seen her 
 mother do before her. She threw away the 
 husks in Eva's under mattress and put 
 fresh ones in; she emptied the feathers 
 from the feather bed and pillows and aired 
 them in the sun while she washed the 
 ticking ; she scrubbed the paint in the sick- 
 room, and in between her tasks learned 
 from Clarissa Perry the whole process of 
 bringing up babies by hand. 
 
 That was three years ago. At first 
 David had sent ten dollars a month from 
 his slender earnings, never omitting it save 
 for urgent reasons. He evidently thought 
 of the twins as "company" for his sister 
 and their care a pleasant occupation, since 
 she had "almost" a living income; taking 
 in a few coats to make, just to add an oc- 
 casional luxury to the bare necessities of 
 life provided by her mother's will. 
 55 
 
(ft C§x\*tm<XB Caxb 
 
 His letters were brief, dispirited, and 
 infrequent, but they had not ceased alto- 
 gether till within the last few months, 
 during which Letty's to him had been 
 returned from Boston with "Not found" 
 scribbled on the envelopes. 
 
 The firm in whose care Letty had lat- 
 terly addressed him simply wrote, in an- 
 swer to her inquiries, that Mr. Gilman had 
 not been in their employ for some time 
 and they had no idea of his whereabouts. 
 
 The rest was silence. 
 
 % „»N»»"'/„, 
 

 V 
 
 A good deal of water had run under Beu- 
 lah Bridge since Letty Boynton had sat at 
 her window on a December evening un- 
 consciously furnishing copy and illustra- 
 tion for a Christmas card; yet there had 
 been very few outward changes in the 
 village. Winter had melted into spring, 
 burst into summer, faded into autumn, 
 lapsed into winter again, — the same old, 
 ever-recurring pageant in the world of 
 57 
 
G>$>t (Romance of 
 
 Nature, and the same procession of inci- 
 dents in the neighborhood life. 
 
 The harvest moon and the hunter's 
 moon had come and gone; the first frost, 
 the family dinners and reunions at Thanks- 
 giving, the first snowfall; and now, as 
 Christmas approached, the same holiday 
 spirit was abroad in the air, slightly modi- 
 fied as it passed by Mrs. Popham's mourn- 
 ful visage. 
 
 One or two babies had swelled the cen- 
 sus, giving the minister hope of a larger 
 Sunday-School; one or two of the very 
 aged neighbors had passed into the be- 
 yond ; and a few romantic and enterprising 
 young farmers had espoused wives, among 
 them Osh Popham's son. 
 
 The manner of their choice was not en- 
 tirely to the liking of the village. Digby 
 Popham had married into the rival church 
 58 
 
(& CfyxiBtmca Cat* 
 
 and as his betrothed was a masterful 
 young lady it was feared that Digby would 
 leave Mr. Larrabee's flock to worship with 
 his wife. Another had married without 
 visible means of support, a proceeding al- 
 ways to be regretted by thoroughly pru- 
 dent persons over fifty; and the third, 
 Deacon Todd's eldest son, had somehow 
 or other met a siren from Vermont and 
 insisted on wedding her when there were 
 plenty of marriageable girls in Beulah. 
 
 "I've no patience with such actions!" 
 grumbled Mrs. Popham. "Young folks 
 are so full of notions nowadays that they 
 look for change and excitement every- 
 wheres. I s'pose James Todd thinks it's a 
 decent, respectable way of actin', to turn 
 his back on the girls he 's been brought up 
 an' gone to school with, and court some- 
 body he never laid eyes on till a year ago. 
 59 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 It's a free country, but I must say I don't 
 think it's very refined for a man to go 
 clear off somewheres and marry a perfect 
 stranger!" 
 
 Births, marriages, and deaths, however, 
 paled into insignificance compared with 
 the spectacular debut of the minister's 
 wife as a writer and embellisher of Christ- 
 mas cards, two at least having been seen 
 at the local milliner's store. How many 
 she had composed, and how many of them 
 (said Mrs. Popham) might have been re- 
 jected, nobody knew, though there was 
 much speculation ; and more than one citi- 
 zen remarked on the size of . the daily 
 package of mail matter handed out by the 
 rural delivery man at the parsonage gate. 
 
 No one but Mrs. Larrabee and Letty 
 Boynton were in possession of all the 
 thrilling details attending the public ap- 
 60 
 
(ft Cfyxx*tm<x* Cavb 
 
 pearance of these works of art; the words 
 and letters of appreciation, the commen- 
 dation, and the occasional blows to pride 
 that attended their acceptance and publi- 
 cation. 
 
 Mrs. Larrabee's first attempt, with the 
 sketch of Letty at the window on Christ- 
 mas Eve, her hearth- fire aglow, her heart 
 and her door open that Love might enter 
 in if the Christ Child came down the 
 snowy street, — this went to the Excelsior 
 Card Company in a large Western city, 
 and the following correspondence ensued : 
 
 Mrs. Luther Larrabee, 
 
 Beulah, N.H. 
 Dear Madam: — 
 
 Your letter bears a well-known postmark, for 
 my father and my grandfather were born and 
 lived in New Hampshire, "up Beulah way." I 
 accept your verses because of the beauty of the 
 picture that accompanied them, and because 
 
 61 
 
Gsfy (Romance of 
 
 Christmas means more than holly and plum pud- 
 ding and gift-laden trees to me, for I am a reli- 
 gious man, — a ministerial father and three family- 
 deacons saw to that, though it does n't always 
 work that way ! — Frankly, I do not expect your 
 card to have a wide appeal, so I offer you only 
 five dollars. 
 
 A Christmas card, my dear madam, must 
 have a greeting, and yours has none. If the pic- 
 tured room were a real room, and some one who 
 had seen or lived in it should recognize it, it would 
 attract his eye, but we cannot manufacture cards 
 to meet such romantic improbabilities. I am em- 
 boldened to ask you (because you live in Beulah) 
 if you will not paint the outside of some lonely, 
 little New Hampshire cottage, as humble as you 
 like, and make me some more verses ; something, 
 say, about "the folks back home." 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 Reuben Small. 
 
 Beulah, N.H. 
 Dear Mr. Small: — 
 
 I accept your offer of five dollars for my maiden 
 effort in Christmas cards with thanks, and will 
 try my hand at something more popular. I am 
 
 62 
 
(ft C$t\*imcM Caxb 
 
 not above liking to make a "wide appeal," but 
 the subject you propose is rather a staggering 
 one, because you accompany it with a phrase 
 lacking rhythm, and difficult to rhyme. You will 
 at once see, by running through the alphabet, 
 that "roam" is the only serviceable rhyme for 
 "home," but the union of the two suggests jingle 
 or doggerel. I defy any minor poet when fur- 
 nished with such a phrase, to refrain from burst- 
 ing at once into : — 
 
 No matter where you travel, no matter where you roam, 
 You '11 never dum-di-dum-di-dee 
 The folks back home. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 Reba Larrabee. 
 
 P.S. On second thought I believe James 
 Whitcomb Riley could do it and overcome the 
 difficulties, but alas! I have not his touch! 
 
 Dear Mrs. Larrabee: — 
 
 We never refuse verses because they are too 
 good for the public. Nothing is too good for the 
 public, but the public must be the judge of what 
 pleases it. 
 
 "The folks back home" is a phrase that will 
 strike the eye and ear of thousands of wandering 
 63 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 sons and daughters. They will choose that card 
 from the heaped-up masses on the counters and 
 send it to every State in the Union. If you will 
 glance at your first card you will see that though 
 people may read it they will always leave it on 
 the counter. I want my cards on counters, by 
 the thousand, but I don't intend that they should 
 be left there! 
 
 Make an effort, dear Mrs. Larrabee! I could 
 get "the folks back home" done here in the 
 office in half an hour, but I 'm giving you the 
 chance because you live in Beulah, New Hamp- 
 shire, and because you make beautiful pictures. 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 Reuben Small. 
 
 Dear Mr. Small: — 
 
 I enclose a colored sketch of the outside of the 
 cottage whose living-room I used in my first card. 
 I chose it because I love the person who lives in it ; 
 because it always looks beautiful in the snow, and 
 because the tree is so picturesque. The fact that 
 it is gray for lack of paint may remind a casual 
 wanderer that there is something to do, now and 
 then, for the "folks back home." The verse is 
 just as bad as I thought it would be. It seems 
 
 64 
 
incredible that any one should buy it, but ours is 
 a big country and there are many kinds of people 
 living in it, so who knows? Why don't you accept 
 my picture and then you write the card? I could 
 not put my initials on this! They are unknown, 
 to be sure, and I should want them to be, if you 
 use it! 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 Reba Larrabee. 
 
 Now here 's a Christmas greeting 
 
 To the "folks back home." 
 It comes to you across the space, 
 
 Dear folks back home! 
 I 've searched the wide world over, 
 
 But no matter where I roam, 
 No friends are like the old friends, 
 
 No folks like those back home! 
 
 Dear Mrs. Larrabee: — 
 
 I gave you five dollars for the first picture and 
 verses, which you, as a writer, regard more highly 
 than I, who am merely a manufacturer. Please 
 accept twenty dollars for "The Folks Back 
 Home," on which I hope to make up my loss on 
 the first card! I insist on signing the despised 
 verse with your initials. In case R. L. should 
 
 65 
 
Z§t (Romance of 
 
 later come to mean something, you will be glad 
 that a few thousand people have seen it. 
 Sincerely, 
 
 Reuben Small. 
 
 The Hessian soldier andirons, the por- 
 trait over the Boynton mantel, and even 
 Letty Boynton's cape were identified on 
 the first card, sooner or later, but it was 
 obvious that Mrs. Larrabee had to have 
 a picture for her verses and could n't be 
 supposed to make one up "out of her 
 head"; though Osh Popham declared it 
 had been done again and again in other 
 parts of the world. Also it was agreed 
 that, as Letty's face was not distinguish- 
 able, nobody outside of Beulah could rec- 
 ognize her by her cape; and that any- 
 how it could n't make much difference, for 
 if anybody wanted to spend fifteen cents 
 on a card he would certainly buy the one 
 66 
 
(ft Cfyxi*tm&8 Caxb 
 
 about "the folks back home." The pop- 
 ularity of this was established by the fact 
 that it was selling, not only in Beulah and 
 Greentown, but in Boston, and in Racine, 
 Wisconsin, and, it was rumored, even in 
 Chicago. The village milliner in Beulah 
 had disposed of twenty-seven copies in 
 thirteen days and the minister's wife was 
 universally conceded to be the most cele- 
 brated person in the State of New Hamp- 
 shire. 
 
 Letty Boynton had an uncomfortable 
 moment when she saw the first card, but 
 common sense assured her that outside of 
 a handful of neighbors no one would iden- 
 tify her home surroundings ; meantime she 
 was proud of Reba's financial and artistic 
 triumph in " The Folks Back Home " and 
 generously glad that she had no share in it. 
 
 Twice during the autumn David had 
 67 
 
£§e (Romance of 
 
 broken his silence, but only to send her a 
 postal from some Western town, telling 
 her that he should have no regular ad- 
 dress for a time; that he was traveling 
 for a publishing firm and felt ill-adapted 
 to the business. He hoped that she and 
 the children were well, for he himself was 
 not; etc., etc. 
 
 The twins had been photographed by 
 Osh Popham, who was Jack of all trades 
 and master of many, and a sight of their 
 dimpled charms, curly heads, and straight 
 little bodies would have gladdened any 
 father's heart, Letty thought. However, 
 she scorned to win David back by any 
 such specious means. If he did n't care to 
 know whether his children were hump- 
 backed, bow - legged, cross - eyed, club- 
 footed, or feeble-minded, why should she 
 enlighten him? This was her usual frame 
 6S 
 
(ft Cfymtmcti Caxb 
 
 of mind, but in these last days of the year 
 how she longed to pop the bewitching pho- 
 tographs and Reba's Christmas cards into 
 an envelope and send them to David. 
 
 But where? No word at all for weeks 
 and weeks, and then only a postal from 
 St. Joseph, saying that he had given up 
 his position on account of poor health. 
 Nothing in all this to keep Christmas on, 
 thought Letty, and she knitted and cro- 
 cheted and sewed with extra ardor that 
 the twins' stockings might be filled with 
 bright things of her own making. 
 
 * * £ * 
 
 &• ~k ir ■*■ 
 
VI 
 
 On the afternoon before Christmas of that 
 year, the North Station in Boston was 
 filled with hurrying throngs on the way 
 home for the holidays. Everybody looked 
 tired and excited, but most of them had 
 happy faces, and men and women alike 
 had as many bundles as they could carry ; 
 bundles and boxes quite unlike the brown 
 paper ones with which commuters are 
 laden on ordinary days. These were white 
 70 
 
packages, beribboned and beflowered and 
 behollied and bemistletoed, to be gently 
 carried and protected from crushing. 
 
 The train was filled to overflowing and 
 many stood in the aisles until Latham 
 Junction was reached and the overflow 
 alighted to change cars for Greentown and 
 way stations. 
 
 Among the crowd were two men with 
 suit-cases who hurried into the way train 
 and, entering the smoking car from oppo- 
 site ends, met in the middle of the aisle, 
 dropped their encumbrances, stretched out 
 a hand and ejaculated in the same breath: 
 
 "Dick Larrabee, upon my word!" 
 
 "Dave Gilman, by all that's great! — 
 Here, let's turn over a seat for our bag- 
 gage and sit together. Going home, I 
 s'pose?" 
 
 The men had not met for some years, 
 71 
 
&%t (Romance of 
 
 but each knew something of the other's 
 circumstances and hoped that the other 
 did n't know too much. They scanned 
 each other's faces, Dick thinking that 
 David looked pinched and pale, David 
 half-heartedly registering the quick im- 
 pression that Dick was prosperous. 
 
 "Yes," David answered; "I'm going 
 home for a couple of days. It's such a 
 confounded journey to that one-horse 
 village that a business man can't get there 
 but once in a generation!" 
 
 "Awful hole!" confirmed Dick. "Sim- 
 ply awful hole! I did n't get it out of my 
 system for years." 
 
 "Married?" asked David. 
 
 " No; rather think I 'm not the marrying 
 kind, though the fact is I 've had no time 
 for love affairs — too busy. Let 's see, you 
 have a child, have n't you?" 
 72 
 
"Yes; Letty has seen to all that busi- 
 ness for me since my wife died." (Wild 
 horses could n't have dragged the infor- 
 mation from him that the "child" was 
 "twins," and Dick didn't need it any- 
 way, for he had heard the news the morn- 
 ing he left Beulah.) "Wonder if there 
 have been many changes in the village?" 
 
 "Don't know; there never used to be! 
 Mrs. Popham has been ailing for years, — 
 she could n't die; and Deacon Todd 
 wouldn't!" Dick's old animosities still 
 lingered faintly in his memory, though 
 his laughing voice and the twinkle in his 
 eyes showed plainly that no bitterness was 
 left. ' ' How 's business with you, David ? ' ' 
 
 "Only so-so. I've had the devil's own 
 
 luck lately. Can't get anything that suits 
 
 me or that pays a decent income. I 
 
 formed a new connection the other day, 
 
 73 
 
ts%t (Romance of 
 
 but I can't say yet what there is in it. 
 I'm just out of hospital; operation; they 
 cut out the wrong thing first, I believe, 
 sewed me up absent-mindedly, then re- 
 membered it was the other thing, and did 
 it over again. At any rate, that 's the only 
 way I can account for their mewing me up 
 there for two months." 
 
 "Well, well, that is hard luck! I'm 
 sorry, old boy! Things didn't begin to 
 go my way either till within the last few 
 months. I 've always made a fair living 
 and saved a little money, but never 
 gained any real headway. Now I 've got a 
 first-rate start and the future looks pretty 
 favorable, and best of all, pretty safe. — 
 No trouble at home calls you back to 
 Beulah? I hope Letty is all right? " Dick 
 cast an anxious side glance at David, 
 though he spoke carelessly. 
 74 
 
(ft C§x\0tm<X8 Cavb 
 
 " Oh, no ! Everything 's serene, so far as 
 I know. I'm a poor correspondent, 
 especially when I ' ve no good news to tell ; 
 and anyway, the mere sight of a pen ties 
 my tongue. I 'm just running down to 
 surprise Letty." 
 
 Dick looked at David again. He began 
 to think he did n't like him. He used to, 
 when they were boys, but when he 
 brought that unaccountable wife home 
 and foisted her and her babies on Letty, 
 he rather turned against him. David was 
 younger than himself, four or five years 
 younger, but he looked as if he had n't 
 grown up. Surely his boyhood chum 
 had n't used to be so pale and thin- 
 chested or his mouth so ladylike and 
 pretty. A good face, though ; straight and 
 clean, with honest eyes and a likable smile. 
 Lack of will, perhaps, or a persistent run 
 75 
 
G/%t (Romance of 
 
 of ill luck. Letty had always kept him 
 stiffened up in the old days. Dick recalled* 
 one of his father's phrases to the effect 
 that Dave Gilman would spin on a very 
 small biscuit, and wondered if it were still 
 true. 
 
 "And you, Dick? Your father's still 
 living? You see I have n't kept up with 
 Beulah lately." 
 
 "Keeping up with Beulah! It sounds 
 like the title of a novel, but the hero would 
 have to be a snail or he'd pass Beulah in 
 the first chapter! — Yes, father's hale and 
 hearty, I believe." 
 
 "You come home every Christmas, I 
 s'pose?" inquired David. 
 
 "No; as a matter of fact this is my first 
 visit since I left for good." 
 
 "That's about my case." And David, 
 hung his head a little, unconsciously. 
 76 
 
(ft Cfynztmas Caxl 
 
 "That so? Well, I was a hot-headed 
 fool when I said good-bye to Beulah, and 
 it's taken me all this time to cool off and 
 make up my mind to apologize to the dad. 
 There's — there's rather a queer coinci- 
 dence about my visit just at this time." 
 
 " Speaking of coincidences," said David, 
 "I can beat yours, whatever it is. If the 
 thought of your father brought you back, 
 my mother drew me — this way!" And 
 he took something from his inside coat 
 pocket. — "Do you see that?" 
 
 Dick regarded the object blankly, then 
 with a quick gesture dived into his pocket 
 and brought forth another of the same 
 general character. " How about this? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Each had one of Reba Larrabee's Christ- 
 mas cards but David had the first unsuc- 
 cessful one and Dick the popular one with 
 77 
 
&§t (Romans of 
 
 the lonely little gray house and the verse 
 about the folks back home. 
 
 The men looked at each other in aston- 
 ishment and Dick gave a low whistle. 
 Then they bent over the cards together. 
 
 11 It was mother's picture that pulled me 
 back to Beulah, I don't mind telling you," 
 said David, his mouth twitching. " Don't 
 you see it?" 
 
 "Oh! Is that your mother?" And Dick 
 scanned the card closely. 
 
 " Don't you remember her portrait that 
 always hung there after she died?" 
 
 "Yes, of course!" And Dick's tone was 
 apologetic. "You see the face is so small I 
 did n't notice it, but I recognize it now 
 and remember the portrait." 
 
 "Then the old sitting-room ! " exclaimed 
 David. "Look at the rag carpet and the 
 blessed old andirons! Gracious! I've 
 78 
 
(& C§t\Btm<xz Caxb 
 
 crawled round those Hessian soldiers, 
 burned my fingers and cracked my skull 
 on 'em, often enough when I was a kid ! 
 When I 'd studied the card five minutes, I 
 bought a ticket and started for home." 
 
 David's eyes were suffused and his lip 
 trembled. 
 
 " I don't wonder," said Dick. " I recog- 
 nize the dear old room right enough, and 
 of course I should know Letty." 
 
 "It didn't occur to me that it was 
 Letty for some time," said her brother. 
 "There's just the glimpse of a face shown, 
 and no real likeness." 
 
 "Perhaps not," agreed Dick. "A 
 stranger would n't have known it for 
 Letty, but if it had been only that cape I 
 should have guessed. It's as familiar as 
 Mrs. Popham's bugle bonnet, and much 
 prettier. She wore it every winter, — 
 79 
 
G>§t (Romance of 
 
 skating, you know, — and it's just the 
 color of her hair." 
 
 "Letty has a good-shaped head," said 
 David judicially. "It shows, even in the 
 card." 
 
 "And a remarkable ear," added Dick, 
 "so small and so close to her head." 
 
 "I never notice people's ears," con- 
 fessed David. 
 
 "Don't you? I do, and eyelashes, too. 
 Mother 's got Letty's eyelashes down fine. 
 — She's changed, Dave, Letty has! That 
 hurts me. She was always so gay and 
 chirpy. In this picture she has a sad, far- 
 away, listening look, but mother may 
 have put that in just to make it inter- 
 esting." 
 
 "Or perhaps I've had something to do 
 with the change of expression!" thought 
 David. "What attracted me first," he 
 80 
 
(ft C§x\8tmcK8 Caxb 
 
 added, "was your mother's verses. She 
 always had a knack of being pious with- 
 out cramming piety down your throat. 
 I liked that open door. It meant wel- 
 come, no matter how little you 'd deserved 
 it." 
 
 " Where 'd you get your card, Dave?" 
 asked Dick. " It's prettier than mine." 
 
 "A nurse brought it to me in the hos- 
 pital just because she took a fancy to it. 
 She did n't know it would mean anything 
 to me, but it did — a relapse ! " And David 
 laughed shamedfacedly. "I guess she'll 
 confine herself to beef tea after this ! — 
 Where 'd you get yours?" 
 
 11 Picked it up on a dentist's mantelpiece 
 when I was waiting for an appointment. I 
 was traveling round the room, hands in 
 my pockets, when suddenly I saw this 
 card standing up against an hour-glass. 
 81 
 
tf%t (Romans of 
 
 The color caught me. I took it to the win- 
 dow, and at first I was puzzled. It cer- 
 tainly was Letty's house. The door 's open 
 you see and there 's somebody in the win- 
 dow. I knew it was Letty, but how could 
 any card publisher have found the way to 
 Beulah? Then I discovered mother's 
 initials snarled up in holly, and remem- 
 bered that she was always painting and 
 illuminating." 
 
 "Queer job, life is!" said David, put- 
 ting his card back in his pocket and wish- 
 ing there were a little more time, or that 
 he had a little more courage, so that he 
 might confide in Dick Larrabee. He felt a 
 desire to tell him some of the wretched- 
 ness he had lived through. It would be a 
 comfort just to hint that his unhappiness 
 had made him a coward, so that the very 
 responsibilities that serve as a spur to 
 82 
 
some men had left him until now cold, 
 unstirred, unvitalized. 
 
 1 ' You ' re right ! " Dick answered . "Life 
 is a queer job and it does n't do to shirk 
 it. And just as queer as anything in life 
 is the way that mother's Christmas cards 
 brought us back to Beulah! They acted 
 as a sort of magic, did n't they? — Jim- 
 iny! I believe the next station is Beulah. 
 I hope the depot team will be hitched up." 
 
 "Yes, here we are; seven o'clock ajid 
 the train only thirty-five minutes late. It 
 always made a point of that on holidays !" 
 
 "Never mind!" And Dick's tone was 
 as gay as David's was sober. "The bean- 
 pot will have gone back to the cellarway 
 and the doughnuts to the crock, but the 
 'folks back home' '11 get 'em out for us, 
 and a mince pie, too, and a cut of sage 
 cheese." 
 
 83 
 
*&%t (Romance of 
 
 'There won't be any ' folks back home,' 
 we're so late, I'm thinking. There's al- 
 ways a Christmas Eve festival at the 
 church, you know. They never change — 
 in Beulah." 
 
 "Then, by George, they can have me 
 for Santa Claus!" said Dick as they 
 stepped out on the platform. "Why, it 
 does n't seem cold at all; yet look at the 
 ice on the river! What skating, and what 
 a moon ! My blood 's up, and if I find the 
 parsonage closed, I'll follow on to the 
 church and make my peace with the mem- 
 bers. There's a kind of spell on me! For 
 the first time in years I feel as though I 
 could shake hands with Deacon Todd." 
 
 "Well, Merry Christmas to you, Dick, 
 
 — I'm going to walk. Good gracious! 
 
 Have you come to spend the winter?" 
 
 For various bags and parcels were being 
 
 84 
 
(ft C§x'\*tm&* Caxb 
 
 flung out on the platform with that indif- 
 ference and irresponsibility that bespeak 
 the touch of the seasoned baggage-handler. 
 
 "You did n't suppose I was coming 
 back to Beulah empty-handed, on Christ- 
 mas Eve, did you? If I 'm in time for the 
 tree, I'm going to give those blue-nosed, 
 frost-bitten little youngsters something 
 to remember! Jump in, Dave, and ride as 
 far as the turn of the road." 
 
 In a few minutes the tottering old sign- 
 board that marked the way to Beulah 
 Center hove in sight, and David jumped 
 from the sleigh to take his homeward 
 path. 
 
 "Merry Christmas again, Dick!" he 
 waved. 
 
 "Same to you, Dave! I'll come myself 
 to say it to Letty the first minute I see 
 smoke coming from your chimney to- 
 85 
 
(& Cfyxwima* C&xb 
 
 morrow morning. Tell her you met me, 
 will you, and that my visit is partly for 
 her, only that father had to have his turn 
 first. She'll know why. Tell her mother's 
 card had Christmas magic in it, tell — " 
 
 "Say, tell her the rest yourself, will you, 
 Dick? " And Dave broke into a run down 
 the hill road that led to Letty. 
 
 "I will, indeed!" breathed Dick into 
 his muffler. 
 
VII 
 
 Repeating history, Letty was again at 
 her open window. She had been half- 
 ashamed to reproduce the card, as it were, 
 but something impelled her. She was safe 
 from scrutiny, too, for everybody had 
 gone to the tree — the Pophams, Mr. 
 Davis, Clarissa Perry, everybody for a 
 quarter of a mile up and down the street, 
 and by now the company would be gath- 
 ered and the tree lighted. She could keep 
 watch alone, the only sound being that of 
 87 
 
t>fyt (Romance of 
 
 the children's soft breathing in the next 
 room. 
 
 Letty had longed to go to the festival 
 herself, but old Clarissa Perry, who cared 
 for the twins now and then in Letty's few 
 absences, had a niece who was going to 
 "speak a piece," and she yearned to be 
 present and share in the glory; so Letty 
 was kept at home as she had been number- 
 less other times during the three years of 
 her vicarious motherhood. 
 
 The night was mild again, as in the year 
 before. The snow lay like white powder 
 on the hard earth; the moon was full, and 
 the street was a length of dazzling silence. 
 The lighted candle was in the parlor win- 
 dow, shining toward the meeting-house, 
 the fire burned brightly on the hearth, the 
 front door was ajar. Letty wrapped her 
 old cape round her shoulders, drew her 
 63 
 
(ft Cfyxwtm&B Caxb 
 
 hood over her head, and seating herself at 
 the window repeated under her breath : — 
 
 "My door is on the latch to-night, 
 The hearth-fire is aglow. 
 I seem to hear swift passing feet, 
 The Christ Child in the snow. 
 
 " My heart is open wide to-night 
 For stranger, kith, or kin; 
 I would not bar a single door 
 Where Love might enter in!" 
 
 And then a footstep, drawing ever nearer, 
 sounded crunch, crunch, in the snow. 
 Letty pushed her chair back into the 
 shadow. The footstep halted at the gate, 
 came falteringly up the path, turned aside, 
 and came nearer the window. Then a 
 voice said: "Don't be frightened Letty, 
 it's David! Can I come in? I have n't any 
 right to, except that it's Christmas Eve." 
 That, indeed, was the magic, the all- 
 comprehending phrase that swept the past 
 89 
 
&%t (Romance of 
 
 out of mind with one swift stroke : the ac- 
 knowledgment of unworthiness, the child- 
 like claim on the forgiving love that should 
 be in every heart on such a night as this. 
 Resentment melted away like mist before 
 the sun. Her deep grievance — where had 
 it gone? How could she speak anything 
 but welcome? For what was the window 
 open, the fire lighted, the door ajar, the 
 guiding candle-flame, but that Love, and 
 David, might enter in? 
 
 There were few words at first; nothing 
 but close-locked hands and wet cheeks 
 pressed together. Then Letty sent David 
 into the children's room by himself. If the 
 twins were bewitching when awake, they 
 were nothing short of angelic when asleep. 
 
 David came out a little later, his eyes 
 reddened with tears, his hair rumpled, his 
 face flushed. He seemed like a man awed 
 90 
 
"I NEVER THOUGHT OF THEM AS MY CHILDREN BEFORE' 
 
(ft tfyxxstma* Cat* 
 
 by an entirely new experience. He could 
 not speak, he could only stammer bro- 
 kenly : — 
 
 "As God is my witness, Letty, there's 
 been something wrong with me up to this 
 moment. I never thought of them as my 
 children before, and I can't believe that 
 such as they can belong to me. They were 
 never wanted, and I've never had any 
 interest in them. I owe them to you, 
 Letty ; you ' ve made them what they are ; 
 you, and no one else." 
 
 "If there had n't been something there 
 to build on, my love and care would n't 
 have counted for much. They're just like 
 dear mother's people for good looks and 
 brains and pretty manners: they're pure 
 Shirley all the way through, the twinnies 
 are." 
 
 " It's lucky for me that they are!" said 
 91 
 
G,%i (Romans of 
 
 David humbly. "You see, Letty, I mar- 
 ried Eva to keep my promise. If I was old 
 enough to make it, I was old enough to 
 keep it, so I thought. She never loved 
 me, and when she found out that I did n't 
 love her any longer she turned against me. 
 Our life together was awful, from begin- 
 ning to end, but she's in her grave, and 
 nobody '11 ever hear my side, now that she 
 can't tell hers. When I looked at those 
 two babies the day I left you, I thought of 
 them only as retribution; and the vision 
 of them — ugly, wrinkled, writhing little 
 creatures — has been in my mind ever 
 since." 
 
 "They were compensation, not retribu- 
 tion, David. I ought to have told you 
 how clever and beautiful they were, but 
 you never asked and my pride was up in 
 arms. A man should stand by his own 
 92 
 
(ft C§x\*tma& Caxb 
 
 flesh and blood, even if it is n't attractive; 
 that's what I believe." 
 
 " I know, I know! But I 've had no feel- 
 ing for three years. I 've been like a frozen 
 man, just drifting, trying to make both 
 ends meet, my heart dead and my body 
 full of pain. I 'm just out of a hospital — 
 two months in all." 
 
 ''David! Why didn't you let me 
 know, or send for me?" 
 
 " Oh, it was way out in Missouri. I was 
 taken ill very suddenly at the hotel in St. 
 Joseph and they moved me at once. There 
 were two operations first and last, and I 
 did n't know enough to feed myself most 
 of the time." 
 
 "Poor, poor Buddy! Did you have 
 good care?" 
 
 "The best. I had more than care. 
 Ruth Bentley, the nurse that brought me 
 93 
 
Zfyt $OMMltt Of 
 
 back to life, made me see what a useless 
 creature I was." 
 
 Some woman's instinct stirred in Letty 
 at a new note in her brother's voice and a 
 new look in his face. She braced herself 
 for his next words, sure that they would 
 open a fresh chapter. The door and the 
 window were closed now, the shades 
 pulled down, the fire low; the hour was 
 ripe for confidences. 
 
 " You see, Letty," — and David cleared 
 his throat nervously, and looked at the 
 coals gleaming behind the Hessian sol- 
 diers, — "it's a time for a thorough 
 housecleaning, body, mind, and soul, a 
 long illness is; and Miss Bentley knew well 
 enough that all was wrong with me. I 
 mentioned my unhappy marriage and told 
 her all about you, but I said nothing about 
 the children." 
 
 94 
 
(ft Cfyxxztmixz Cat)* 
 
 "Why should you?" asked Letty, al- 
 though her mind had leaped to the reason 
 already. 
 
 "Well, I was a poor patient in one of the 
 cheapest rooms; broken in health, without 
 any present means of support. I wanted 
 to stand well with her, she had been so 
 good to me, and I thought if she knew 
 about the twins she would n't believe I 
 could ever make a living for three." 
 
 "Still less for four!" put in Letty, with 
 an irrepressible note of teasing in her 
 tone. 
 
 She had broken the ice. Like a torrent 
 set free, David dashed into the story of 
 the last two months and Ruth Bentley's 
 wonderful influence. How she had re- 
 created him within as well as without. 
 How she was the best and noblest of 
 women, willing to take a pauper by the 
 95 
 
Grfyt (Romance of 
 
 hand and brace him up for a new battle 
 with life. 
 
 "Strength appeals to me," confessed 
 David. "Perhaps it 's because I am weak; 
 for I'm afraid I am, a little!" 
 
 "Be careful, Davy! Eva was strong!" 
 
 David shuddered. He remembered a 
 strength that lashed and buffeted and 
 struck and overpowered. 
 
 "Ruth is different," he said. "'Out of 
 the strong came forth sweetness' used to 
 be one of Parson Larrabee's texts. That's 
 Ruth's kind of strength. — Can I — will 
 you let me bring her here to see you, 
 Letty, — say for New Year's? It's all so 
 different from the last time I asked you. 
 Then I knew I was bringing you nothing 
 but sorrow and pain, but Ruth carries her 
 welcome in her face." 
 
 The prop inside of Letty wavered un- 
 96 
 
(ft C^mtmas Catb 
 
 steadily for a moment and then stood in 
 its accustomed upright position. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked. " It's the right 
 thing to do; but you must tell her about 
 the children first." 
 
 "Oh! I did that long ago, after I found 
 out that she cared. It was only at first 
 that I did n't dare. I have n't told you, 
 but she went out for her daily walk and 
 brought me home a Christmas card, the 
 prettiest one she could find, she said. I 
 was propped up on pillows, as weak as a 
 kitten. I looked at it and looked at it, and 
 when I saw that it was this room, the old 
 iireplace and mother's picture, and the 
 Hessian soldier andirons, when I realized 
 L.Lere was a face at the window and that 
 the door was ajar, — everything just swam 
 before me and I fainted dead away. I 
 had a relapse, and when I was better 
 97 
 
&§* (Romance of 
 
 again I told her everything. She 's fond of 
 children. It did n't make any difference, 
 except for her to say that the more she 
 had to do for me, the more she wanted to 
 do it." ' 
 
 "Well," said Letty with a break in her 
 voice, "that's love, so far as I can see, and 
 if you 've been lucky enough to win it, take 
 it and be thankful, and above all, nurse 
 and keep it. — So one of Reba's cards, the 
 one the publisher thought would never sell, 
 found you and brought you back! How 
 wonderful! We little thought of that, 
 Rebaand I!" 
 
 "Reba's work did n't stop there, Letty! 
 There was so much that had to be said 
 between you and me, just now, that I 
 could n't let another subject creep in till 
 it was finished and we were friends ; — 
 but Dick Larrabee saw Reba's card about 
 98 
 
(ft Cfyxutimw Caxb 
 
 - the folks back home ' in Chicago and he 
 bought a ticket for Beulah just as I did. 
 We met in the train and compared notes." 
 
 " Dick Larrabee home? " 
 
 The blood started in Letty's heart and 
 sped hither and thither, warming her from 
 head to foot. 
 
 " Yes, looking as fit as a fiddle; the way 
 a man looks when things are coming his 
 way." 
 
 "But what did the card mean to him? 
 Did he seem to like Reba's verses?" 
 
 "Yes, but I guess the card just spelled 
 home to him ; and he recognized this house 
 in a minute, of course. I showed him my 
 card and he said: 'That's Letty fast 
 enough: I know the cape.' He recog- 
 nized you in a minute, he said." 
 
 He knew the cape! Yes, the old cape 
 had been close to his shoulder many a 
 99 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 time. He liked it and said it matched her 
 hair. 
 
 "He was awfully funny about your ear, 
 too! I told him I never noticed women's 
 ears, and he said he did, when they were 
 pretty, and their eyelashes, too. — Any- 
 thing remarkable about your eyelashes, 
 Letty?" 
 
 "Nothing that I'm aware of!" said 
 Letty laughingly, although she was fib- 
 bing and she knew it. 
 
 "And he said he'd call and say 'Merry 
 Christmas' to you the first thing to- 
 morrow; that he would have been here 
 to-night but you 'd know his father had to 
 come first. You don't mind being second 
 to the parson, do you?" 
 
 No, Letty did n't mind. Her heart was 
 unaccountably light and glad, like a girl's 
 heart. It was the Eve of Mary when all 
 100 
 
(ft Cfyxxztmw Caxb 
 
 women are blest because of one. The Wise 
 Men brought gifts to the Child; Letty had 
 often brought hers timidly, devoutly, 
 trustfully, and perhaps to-night they were 
 coming back to her! 
 
r ""t?-vj — ''i-' .•^.s£%i^ ;, -e s -' 
 
 V.-"'"'^^ IrJ.»X«l-'^3SS ***** - 
 
 
 VIII 
 
 " Put the things down on the front steps," 
 said Dick to the driver as he neared the 
 parsonage. "If there's nobody at home 
 I '11 go on up to the church after I 've got 
 this stuff inside." 
 
 "Got a key?" 
 
 "No, don't need one. I've picked all 
 the locks with a penknife many a time. 
 Besides, the key is sure to be under the 
 doormat. Yes, here it is ! Of all the unac- 
 
 102 
 
(21 tfyxiztma* Caxb 
 
 countable customs I ever knew, that 's the 
 most laughable!" 
 
 "Works all right for you!" 
 
 "Yes, and for all the other tramps," — 
 and Dick opened the door and lifted in his 
 belongings. "Good-night," he called to 
 the driver; "I'll walk up to the church 
 after I 've found out whether mother keeps 
 the mince pie and cider apple sauce in the 
 same old place." 
 
 A few minutes later, his hunger par- 
 tially stayed, Dick Larrabee locked the 
 parsonage door and took the well-trodden 
 path across the church common. It was 
 his father's feet, he knew, that had worn 
 the shoveled path so smooth; his kind, 
 faithful feet that had sped to and fro on 
 errands of mercy, never faltering in all 
 the years. 
 
 It was nearly eight o'clock. The sound 
 103 
 
G/%t (Romance of 
 
 of the melodeon, with children's voices, 
 floated out from the white-painted meet- 
 ing-house, all ablaze with light; or as 
 much ablaze as a kerosene chandelier and 
 six side lamps could make it. The horse 
 sheds were crowded with teams of various 
 sorts, the horses well blanketed and stand- 
 ing comfortably in straw; and the last 
 straggler was entering the right-hand door 
 of the church as Dick neared the steps. 
 Simultaneously the left-hand door opened, 
 and on the background of the light inside 
 appeared the figure of Mrs. Todd, the wife 
 of his ancient enemy, the senior deacon. 
 Dick could see that a sort of dressing- 
 room had been curtained off in the little 
 entry, as it had often been in former times 
 of tableaux and concerts and what not. 
 Valor, not discretion, was the better pol- 
 icy, and walking boldly up to the steps 
 104 
 
(§ C$>x\Btm<X8 Cixxb 
 
 Dick took off his fur cap and said, "Good- 
 evening, Mrs. Todd!" 
 
 "Good gracious me! Where under the 
 canopy did you hail from, Dick Larrabee? 
 Was your folks lookin' for you? They 
 ain't breathed a word to none of us." 
 
 "No, I'm a surprise, Mrs. Todd." 
 
 "Well, I know you've given me one! 
 Will you wait a spell till the recitations is 
 over? You 'd scare the children so, if you 
 go in now, that they 'd forget their pieces 
 more'n they gen'ally do." 
 
 "I can endure the loss of the 'pieces,'" 
 said Dick with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 At which Mrs. Todd laughed compre- 
 hendingly, and said: "Isaac '11 get a stool 
 or a box or something ; there ain't a vacant 
 seat in the church. I wish we could say the 
 same o' Sundays! — Isaac! Isaac! Come 
 out and see who's here," she called under 
 105 
 
ts%t (Romans of 
 
 her breath. "He won't be long. He's 
 tendin' John Trimble in the dressin'-room. 
 He was the only one in the village that 
 was willin' to be Santa Claus an' he wa'n't 
 over-willin'. Now he's et something for 
 supper that disagrees with him awfully 
 and he's all doubled up with colic. We 
 can't have the tree till the exercises is 
 over, but that won't be mor'n fifteen 
 minutes, so I sent Isaac home to make a 
 mustard plaster. He's puttin' it on John 
 now. John's dreadful solemn and una- 
 musin' when he's well, and I can't think 
 how he'll act when he's all crumpled up 
 with stomach-ache, an' the mustard plas- 
 ter drawin' like fire." 
 
 Dick threw back his head and laughed. 
 He had forgotten just how unexpected 
 Beulah's point of view always was. 
 
 Deacon Todd now came out cautiously. 
 106 
 
(ft CfyxiBtma* C<xtb 
 
 "I've got it on him, mother, tho' he's 
 terrible unresigned to it; an' I've given 
 him a stiff dose o' Jamaica Ginger. We 
 can tell pretty soon whether he can take 
 his part." 
 
 "Here's Dick Larrabee come back, 
 Isaac, just when we thought he had given 
 up Beulah for good an' all!" said Mrs. 
 Todd. 
 
 The Deacon stood on the top step, his 
 gaunt, grizzled face peering above the 
 collar of his great coat; not a man to eat 
 his words very often, Deacon Isaac Todd. 
 
 "Well, young man," he said, "you've 
 found your way home, have you? It's 
 about time, if you want to see your father 
 alive!" 
 
 "If it had n't been for you and others 
 like you, men who had forgotten what it 
 was to be young, I should never have gone 
 
 107 
 
Zfyt (Romance of 
 
 away," said Dick hotly. "What had I 
 done worse than a dozen others, only that 
 I happened to be the minister's son?" 
 
 "That's just it; you were bringin' trou- 
 ble on the parish, makin' talk that re- 
 flected on your father. Folks said if he 
 could n't control his own son, he wa'n't 
 fit to manage a church. You played cards, 
 you danced, you drove a fast horse." 
 
 "I never did a thing I'm ashamed of 
 but one," — and Dick's voice was firm. 
 "My misdeeds were nothing but boyish 
 nonsense, but the village never gave me 
 credit for a single virtue. I ought to have 
 remembered father's position, but what- 
 ever I was or whatever I did, you had no 
 right to pray for me openly for full five 
 minutes at a public meeting. That galled 
 me worse than anything!" 
 
 "Now, Isaac," interrupted Mrs. Todd. 
 108 
 
(ft C^xx&tmdB Cavb 
 
 "I hope you'll believe me! I've told you 
 once a week, on an average, these last 
 three years, that you might have chas- 
 tened Dick some other way besides prayin' 
 for him in meetin' ! " 
 
 The Deacon smiled grimly. "You both 
 talk as if prayin' was one of the seven 
 deadly sins," he said. 
 
 "I'm not objecting to your prayers," 
 agreed Dick, "but there were plenty of 
 closets in your house where you might 
 have gone and told the Lord your opinion 
 of me; only that was n't good enough for 
 you; you must needs tell the whole 
 village!" 
 
 "There, father, that's what I always 
 said," agreed Mrs. Todd. 
 
 "Well, I ain't one that can't yield when 
 the majority's against me," said the Dea- 
 con, " particularly when I 'm treatin' John 
 
 109 
 
(ft tfyxtetmctf Cxtb 
 
 Trimble for the colic. If you '11 stop actin' 
 so you threaten to split the church, Dick 
 Larrabee, I '11 stop prayin' for you. The 
 Lord knows how I feel about it now, so I 
 needn't keep on remind in' Him." 
 

 IX 
 
 "That's a bargain and here's my hand on 
 it," cried Dick. "Now, what do you say 
 to letting me be Santa Claus? Come on in 
 and let's look at John Trimble. He 'd 
 make a splendid Job or Jeremiah, but I 
 would n't let him spoil a Christmas festi- 
 val!" 
 
 "Do let Dick take the part, father," — 
 and Mrs. Todd's tone was most ingratiat- 
 ing. "John's terrible dull and bashful 
 anyway, an' mebbe he'd have a pain he 
 III 
 
&fyt (Romance of 
 
 couldn't stan' jest when he's givin' out 
 the presents. An' Dick is always so 
 amusin'." 
 
 Deacon Todd led the way into the im- 
 provised dressing-room. He had removed 
 John's gala costume in order to apply the 
 mustard faithfully and he lay in a crum- 
 pled heap in the corner. The plaster itself 
 adorned a stool near by. 
 
 "Now, John! John! That plaster won't 
 do you no good on the stool. It ain't the 
 stool that needs drawin'; it's your stom- 
 ach," argued Mrs. Todd. 
 
 "I'm drawed pretty nigh to death 
 a'ready," moaned John. " I'm rore, that's 
 what I am, — rore! An' I won't be Santa 
 Claus neither. I want to go home." 
 
 "Wrop him up and get him into your 
 sleigh, father, and take him home; then 
 come right back. Bed 's the place for him. 
 112 
 
(ft Cfyxxstma* Caxb 
 
 Keep that hot flat-iron on his stomach, if 
 he'd rather have it than the mustard. 
 Men-folks are such cowards. I'll dress 
 Dick while you're gone. Mebbe it's a 
 Providence!" 
 
 On the whole, Dick agreed with Mrs. 
 Todd as he stood ready to make his en- 
 trance. The School Committee was in the 
 church and he had had much to do with 
 its members in former days. The Select- 
 men of the village were present, and he 
 had made their acquaintance once, in an 
 executive session. The deacons were all 
 there and the pillars of the church and the 
 choir and the organist — a spinster who 
 had actively disapproved when he had put 
 beans in the melodeon one Sunday. Yes, 
 it was best to meet them in a body on a 
 festive occasion like this, when the rigors 
 of the village point of view were relaxed. 
 113 
 
£#e (Romance of 
 
 It would relieve him of several dozen pri- 
 vate visits of apology, and altogether he 
 felt that his courage would have wavered 
 had he not been disguised as another per- 
 son altogether: a popular favorite; a fat 
 jolly, rollicking dispenser of bounties to 
 the general public. When he finally dis- 
 carded his costume, would it not be easier, 
 too, to meet his father first before the 
 church full of people and have the solemn 
 hour with him alone, later at night? Yes, 
 as Mrs. Todd said, "Mebbe 'twas a 
 Providence!" 
 
 There was never such a merry Christ- 
 mas festival in the Orthodox church of 
 Beulah ; everybody was of one mind as to 
 that. There was a momentary fear that 
 John Trimble, a pillar of prohibition, 
 might have imbibed hard cider; so gay, so 
 114 
 
(§ Cfyx'wtmw C&xb 
 
 nimble, so mirth-provoking was Santa 
 Claus. When was John Trimble ever 
 known to unbend sufficiently to romp up 
 the side aisle jingling his sleigh bells, and 
 leap over a front pew stuffed with presents, 
 to gain the vantage-ground he needed for 
 the distribution of his pack? The wing 
 pews on one side of the pulpit had been 
 floored over and the Christmas Tree stood 
 there, triumphant in beauty, while the 
 gifts strewed the green-covered platform 
 at its feet. 
 
 How gay, how audacious, how witty 
 was Santa Claus! How the village had 
 always misjudged John Trimble, and how 
 completely had John Trimble hitherto 
 obscured his light under a bushel. In his 
 own proper person children avoided him, 
 but they crowded about this Santa Claus, 
 encircling his legs, gurgling with joy when 
 115 
 
&§t (Romance of 
 
 they were lifted to his shoulder, their 
 laughter ringing through the church at 
 his droll antics. A sense of mystery grew 
 when he opened a pack on the pulpit stairs, 
 a pack unfamiliar in its outward aspect to 
 the Committee on Entertainment. Every 
 girl had a little doll dressed in fashionable 
 attire, and every boy a brilliantly colored, 
 splendidly noisy, tin trumpet ; but hanging 
 to every toy by a red ribbon was Mrs. 
 Larrabee's Christmas card; her despised 
 one about the "folks back home." 
 
 The publishers' check to the minister's 
 wife had been accompanied by a dozen 
 complimentary copies, but these had been 
 sent to Reba's Western friends and rela- 
 tions ; and although the card was on many 
 a marble-topped table in Beulah, it had 
 not been bought by all the inhabitants, 
 by any means. Fifteen cents would pur- 
 
 110 
 
HANDS THAT TREMBLED, AS EVERYBODY COULD SEE 
 
(ft C$x\*tmcn* Catb 
 
 chase something useful, and Beulah did 
 not contain many Croesuses. Still, here the 
 cards were, — enough of them for every- 
 body, — with a linen handkerchief for 
 every woman and every man in the meet- 
 ing-house, and a dozen more sticking out 
 of the pack, as the people in the front 
 pews could plainly see. Modest gifts, but 
 plenty of them, and nobody knew from 
 whence they came! There was a buzzing 
 in the church, a buzzing that grew louder 
 and more persistent when Santa Claus 
 threw a lace scarf around Mrs. Larrabee's 
 shoulders and approached her husband 
 with a fine beaver collar in his hands: 
 hands that trembled, as everybody could 
 see, when he buttoned the piece of fur 
 around the old minister's neck. 
 
 And the minister? He had been half in, 
 and half out of, a puzzling dream for ten 
 117 
 
&%t (Romance of 
 
 minutes, and when those hands of Santa 
 Claus touched him, his flesh quivered. 
 They reminded him of baby fingers that 
 had crept around his neck years ago when 
 he patiently walked the parsonage floor at 
 night with his ailing child in his arms. 
 Every drop of blood in his veins called out 
 for answer. He looked above the white 
 cotton beard and mustache to a pair of 
 dark eyes ; merry, mischievous, yet tender 
 and soft; at a brown wavy lock escaping 
 from the home-made wig. Then those who 
 were near heard a weak voice say, "My 
 son!" and those who were far away ob- 
 served Santa Claus tear off his wig and 
 beard, heard him cry, "Father!" — and, 
 as Mrs. Todd said afterwards, saw him 
 "fall on to the minister's neck right there 
 before the whole caboodle, an' cling to him 
 for all the world like an engaged couple, 
 118 
 
only they would n't 'a' made so free in 
 public." 
 
 No ice but would have thawed in such 
 an atmosphere! Grown-up Beulah forgot 
 how much trouble Dick Larrabee had 
 caused in other days, and the children had 
 found a friend for all time. The extraordi- 
 nary number of dolls, trumpets, handker- 
 chiefs, and Christmas cards circulating in 
 the meeting-house raised the temperature 
 considerably, and induced a general feel- 
 ing that if Dick Larrabee had really ever 
 been a bit wild and reckless, he had evi- 
 dently reformed, and prospered, besides. 
 
 Yes, no one but a kind and omniscient 
 Providence could have so beautifully ar- 
 ranged Dick Larrabee's homecoming, and 
 so wisely superintended his complete re- 
 instatement in the good graces of Beulah 
 village. A few maiden ladies felt that he 
 119 
 
G>$t (Romans of 
 
 had been a trifle immodest in embracing, 
 and especially in kissing, his father in 
 front of the congregation; venturing the 
 conviction that kissing, an indecorous cus- 
 tom in any event, was especially lament- 
 able in public. 
 
 "Pity Letty Boynton missed this eve- 
 nin'," said Mrs. Todd. "Her an' Dick al- 
 ters had a fancy for each other, so I've 
 heard, though I don't know how true. 
 Clarissa Perry might jest as well have 
 stayed with the twins as not, for her niece 
 that spoke a piece forgot 'bout half of it 
 an' Clarissa was in a cold sweat every 
 minute. Then the niece had a fit o' cry in', 
 she was so ashamed at failin', an' Clarissa 
 had to take her home. So they both 
 missed the tree, an' Letty might 'a' been 
 here as well as not an' got her handker- 
 chief an' her card. I sent John Trimble's 
 120 
 
(ft Cfyxwimw Carb 
 
 to him by the doctor, but he did n't take 
 no notice, Isaac said, for the doctor was 
 liftin' off the hot flatiron an' puttin' tur- 
 pentine on the spot where I 'd had my 
 mustard. — Anyway, if John had to have 
 the colic he could n't 'a' chosen a better 
 time, an' if he gets over it, I shall be 
 real glad he had it; for nobody ever seen 
 sech a Santa Claus as Dick Larrabee 
 made, an' there never was, an' never will 
 be, sech a lively, an' amusin' an' free-an'- 
 easy evenin' in the Orthodox church." 
 

 X 
 
 "Bless the card!" sighed David thank- 
 fully as he sat down to smoke a good-night 
 pipe and propped his feet contentedly 
 against the little Hessian soldiers. The 
 blaze of the logs on his own family hearth- 
 stone, after many months of steam heaters 
 in the hall bedrooms of cheap hotels, how 
 it soothed his tired heart and gave it vis- 
 ions of happiness to come! The card was 
 on his knee, where he could look from its 
 122 
 
(ft CfyxiBtma* Cavb 
 
 pictured scene to the real one of which he 
 was again a glad and grateful part. 
 
 "Bless the card!" whispered Letty 
 Boynton to herself as she went to her 
 moonlit bedroom. Her eyes searched the 
 snowy landscape and found the parsonage, 
 "over the hills and far away." Then her 
 heart flew like a bird across the distance 
 and beat its wings in gladness, for a faint 
 light streamed from the parson's study 
 windows and she knew that father and son 
 were together. That, in itself, was enough, 
 with David sleeping under the home roof; 
 but to-morrow was coming and to-morrow 
 might be hers — her very own ! 
 
 "Bless the card!" said Reba Larrabee, 
 the tears shining in her eyes as she left 
 the minister alone with his son. "Bless 
 everybody and everything! Above all, 
 bless God, ' from whom all blessings flow.' " 
 
 123 
 
(ft Cfyx\ztm<x* Caxb 
 
 "Bless the card," said Dick Larrabee 
 when he went up the narrow parsonage 
 stairs to the room of his boyhood and 
 found everything as it had been years ago. 
 He leaned the little piece of paper magic 
 against the mantel clock, threw it a kiss, 
 and then, opening his pocket-book, he 
 went nearer to the lamp and took out the 
 faded tintype of a brown-haired girl in a 
 brown cape. "Bless the card!" he said 
 again, with a new note in his voice: "Bless 
 the girl ! And bless to-morrow if it brings 
 me what I want most in all the world!" 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A