he
gift that He had sent her at that Christmas time.

"Peace on earth," had been literally fulfilled to her.

WHERE HE SPENT CHRISTMAS.

"Oh, mother, I will get back before it snows much, and I shall not
mind if a few flakes of snow do light on me. Please do not object to
my going, a walk is just what I'm longing for;" and Edna Winters drew
on her gloves and stepped from the door of her home, a low-roofed
farm-house on the hill, which, in its gray old age, seemed a part of
the hill itself.

It was not the beauty of the afternoon that tempted Edna out, for the
leaden sky almost met the gray hills; and all wore the same sober
hue, sky, hills, house, and leafless trees. The wind howled fiercely
through the group of pine-trees in the yard, that seemed but deep
shadows on the general grayness, and occasional flakes of snow were
already flying about. Father Winters looked through the front window
after his daughter, and shook his head, saying:

"Mother, there's a great storm brewing, if I'm not mistaken. The
child ought not to have gone."

Then the mother came and anxiously inspected the sky, although she
only said:

"Oh well, she is young, and don't mind the weather like us old folks.
I was only twenty years old myself, once, and I remember just how
tired I used to get cooped up in the house so much; besides, she
wanted to go to the post-office. To-morrow is Christmas, you know,
and the office will not be open but an hour or two."

Mr. Winters was growing old, and the rheumatism was keeping him a
prisoner just now, so he came back to the fire and his newspaper.

The little city wherein was the post-office lay a little over two
miles away, and Edna often walked in and out for the mere pleasure of
it. Even on this dismal day she tripped lightly along, humming a glad
measure, stopping a moment in the edge of the pine woods to gather a
few squaw-berries and a bit of moss; then, casting a glance at the
threatening sky, hurried on her way. Before she reached the town the
snow was falling thick and fast, and was blown by the wind into
little mounds almost as soon as it came down. She was fairly blown
inside the door of the post-office, feathery flakes adorning her from
head to foot.

Mr. Hugh Monteith had also come to the post-office. He had merely
stepped across the street from his banking-house, and stood waiting
for the afternoon mail to be distributed. He turned his head
carelessly as the door opened to ad