of corn,
their husks braided, hung on the bare rafters. The aroma of the
summer fields--of peppermint, catnip, and lobelia--haunted it.
Chimney and stovepipe tempered the cold. A crack in the gable end
let in a sift of snow that had been heaping up a lonely little
drift on the bare floor. The widow covered the boys tenderly and
took their treasures off the bed, all save the little wooden
monkey, which, as if frightened by the melee, had hidden far under
the clothes. She went below stairs to the fire, which every cold
day was well fed until after midnight, and began to enjoy the sight
of her own gifts. They were a haunch of venison, a sack of flour,
a shawl, and mittens. A small package had fallen to the floor. It
was neatly bound with wrappings of blue paper. Under the last
layer was a little box, the words "For Polly" on its cover. It
held a locket of wrought gold that outshone the light of the
candles. She touched a spring, and the case opened. Inside was a
lock of hair, white as her own. There were three lines cut in the
glowing metal, and she read them over and over again:--

"Here are silver and gold,
The one for a day of remembrance between thee and dishonour,
The other for a day of plenty between thee and want."

She went to her bed, presently, where the girl lay sleeping, and,
lifting dark masses of her hair, kissed a ruddy cheek. Then the
widow stood a moment, wiping her eyes.

XIII

A Christmas Adventure

Long before daylight one could hear the slowing of the wind. Its
caravan now reaching eastward to mid-ocean was nearly passed.
Scattered gusts hurried on like weary and belated followers. Then,
suddenly, came a silence in which one might have heard the dust of
their feet falling, their shouts receding in the far woodland. The
sun rose in a clear sky above the patched and ragged canopy of the
woods--a weary multitude now resting in the still air.

The children were up looking for tracks of reindeer and breaking
paths in the snow. Sunlight glimmered in far-flung jewels of the
Frost King. They lay deep, clinking as the foot sank in them. At
the Vaughn home it was an eventful day. Santa Claus--well, he is
the great Captain that leads us to the farther gate of childhood
and surrenders the golden key. Many ways are beyond the gate, some
steep and thorny; and some who pass it turn back with bleeding feet
and wet eyes, but the gate opens not again for any that have
passed.