be drawing near which was to give significance to his
father's words.

And so the last weeks of the year passed slowly away. Mr Inglis
preached on Sunday as usual, every Sunday at the village, and every
alternate Sunday at the Mills and at North Gore. He was quite able to
do it, he thought, and though he had restless nights and languid days
still, he called himself much better at the beginning of the year, and
everything went on as usual in the house. In the village there began to
be whispers that it was time for the annual "Donation Visit" to the
minister's family, and certain worthy and wise people, upon whom much of
the prosperity of the town was supposed to depend, laid their heads
together to consult as to how this visit might be made successful in
every respect--a visit to be remembered beyond all other visits, for the
pleasure and profit it was to bring. But before this--before the old
year had come to an end, something else had happened--something that was
considered a great event in the Inglis family. They had had several
letters from Frank Oswald since his going home, but one day there came a
parcel as well, and this, when opened, was found to contain a good many
things which were to be accepted by the young Inglises as Christmas
gifts. These were very nice, and very satisfactory, as a general thing,
but they need not be specified. That which gave more satisfaction to
each than all the other things put together, was marked, "With Frank's
love to Aunt Mary." And if he had searched through all the city for a
gift, he could have found nothing that would have pleased her half so
well. For added to her pleasure in receiving was the better pleasure of
giving. The present was what she had been wishing for two or three
winters past--a fur coat for her husband. It was not a very handsome
coat. That is, it was not one of those costly garments, which sometimes
rich men purchase and wear, quite as much for appearance as for comfort.
It was the best of its kind, however; well made and impervious to the
cold, if a coat could be made so; and when papa put it on and buttoned
it round him, there were many exclamations of admiration and delight.

"We need not be afraid of Hardscrabble winds any more, papa," said
David.

"I should think not. `Blow winds and crack your cheeks,'" said Jem,
laughing.

Little Mary was more than half inclined to be afraid of her papa in his
unaccustomed garb, but Ned laughed at her,