ed little creatures, were more than half the time crying
with cold and hunger. He opened the package of tobacco, filled his pipe
and sat down in his chair by the stove to smoke and think.

How those poor children would enjoy the bread and pies and cakes which
John's wife had sent him! Poor little things, they seldom, if ever,
tasted fare like that. He really did not need them; he managed to get
along pretty well and the neighbors were all good to him; especially
since Martha died. He would really be glad to give those children
something, but he was so tired, so tired, and it was quite a walk over
to the hollow.

Then, the storm! How the wind shrieked and tore around the house, and
how steadily the snow beat against the window panes! It was warm and
comfortable there by the fire, but outside----. And he was unusually
tired to-night; that walk to the village had been almost too much for
him. Besides, he must be up in time for first Mass in the morning; he
had never missed first Mass and Holy Communion on Christmas since the
day he and Martha were married. Year after year, they had knelt side by
side at God's altar; for many years Sallie had knelt there with him; now
he was all alone but he meant to continue the custom for Martha's
sake.

How the storm did rage, to be sure; but those poor children, those poor
little children! Perhaps somewhere in the wide world his Sallie was in
need of help and comfort this night and those who might give it to her
were too tired or too lazy. He guessed that was the trouble, he was
growing lazy in his old age. Well, he would do this for Sallie; it would
be one more little sacrifice added to the many which he and Martha had
offered for their wandering child, that God might keep guard over her
wherever she might be. Yes, he would do it for Sallie's sake and to
please Martha. From Heaven she was watching him and would know that to
please her and for the sake of their child he was going to brave the
storm once more and carry a little Christmas happiness to those poor
children over in the hollow. The walk over and back again would not hurt
him; he was growing old and lazy, that was all.

But first he must light the lamp. Dear, dear, he was growing forgetful
as well as lazy. He had nearly forgotten to light Sallie's lamp. What
would Martha say to that? Every night as soon as dusk had fallen, Martha
had insisted upon placing a lamp in the window of what had once been
Sallie's room. If the chi