ool of my
content. I began to realize that the longer we stayed, the harder it
would be for my mother to let us go. She could hardly permit her New
Daughter to leave the room. She wanted her to sit beside her or to be in
the range of her vision all day long. So far from resenting her loss of
household authority she welcomed it, luxuriating in the freedom from
care which the young wife brought.

This growing reliance upon Zulime made me uneasy. "I cannot, even for
mother's sake, ask my city-bred wife to spend the winter in this small
snow-buried hamlet," I wrote to my brother, "and, besides, I have
planned a wedding trip to Washington and New York."

In announcing to my mother the date of our departure, I said, "We won't
be gone long. We'll be back early in the spring."

"See that you do," she replied, but her eyes were deep and dark with
instant sadness. She had hoped with childish trust that we would stay
all winter with her.

It was beautiful in Neshonoc at this time. Deep, dazzling snows
blanketed the hills, and covered the fields, and frequently at sunset or
later, after the old people were asleep, Zulime and I went for a swift
walk far out into the silent country, rejoicing in the crisp clear air,
and in the sparkle of moonbeams on the crusted drifts. At such times the
satin sheen of sled-tracks in the road, the squeal of dry flakes under
my heel (united with the sound of distant sleigh bells) brought back to
me sadly-sweet memories of boyish games, spelling school, and the voices
of girls whose laughter had long since died away into silence.

The blurred outlines of the hills, the barking of sentinel dogs at
farm-yard gates, and the light from snow-laden cottage windows filled
my heart with a dull illogical ache, an emotion which was at once a
pleasure and a pain.

O, witchery of the winter night,
(With broad moon shouldering to the west),
Before my feet the rustling deeps
Of untracked snows, in shimmering heaps,
Lie cold and desolate and white.
I hear glad girlish voices ring
Clear as some softly-stricken string--
(The moon is sailing toward the west),
The sleigh-bells clash in homeward flight,
With frost each horse's breast is white--
(The moon is falling toward the west)--
"Good night, Lettie!"
"Good night, Ben!"
(The moon is sinking at the west)--
"Good night, my sweetheart,"--Once again
The parting kiss, while comrades wait