d
meant to the world ever since. He gave thanks for our food and comfort,
and prayed for the poor and destitute in great cities, where the
struggle for life was harder than it was here with us. Grandfather's
prayers were often very interesting. He had the gift of simple and
moving expression. Because he talked so little, his words had a peculiar
force; they were not worn dull from constant use. His prayers reflected
what he was thinking about at the time, and it was chiefly through them
that we got to know his feelings and his views about things.

After we sat down to our waffles and sausage, Jake told us how pleased
the Shimerdas had been with their presents; even Ambrosch was friendly
and went to the creek with him to cut the Christmas tree. It was a
soft grey day outside, with heavy clouds working across the sky, and
occasional squalls of snow. There were always odd jobs to be done about
the barn on holidays, and the men were busy until afternoon. Then
Jake and I played dominoes, while Otto wrote a long letter home to his
mother. He always wrote to her on Christmas Day, he said, no matter
where he was, and no matter how long it had been since his last letter.
All afternoon he sat in the dining-room. He would write for a while,
then sit idle, his clenched fist lying on the table, his eyes following
the pattern of the oilcloth. He spoke and wrote his own language so
seldom that it came to him awkwardly. His effort to remember entirely
absorbed him.

At about four o'clock a visitor appeared: Mr. Shimerda, wearing his
rabbit-skin cap and collar, and new mittens his wife had knitted. He had
come to thank us for the presents, and for all grandmother's kindness to
his family. Jake and Otto joined us from the basement and we sat about
the stove, enjoying the deepening grey of the winter afternoon and
the atmosphere of comfort and security in my grandfather's house. This
feeling seemed completely to take possession of Mr. Shimerda. I suppose,
in the crowded clutter of their cave, the old man had come to believe
that peace and order had vanished from the earth, or existed only in the
old world he had left so far behind. He sat still and passive, his head
resting against the back of the wooden rocking-chair, his hands relaxed
upon the arms. His face had a look of weariness and pleasure, like that
of sick people when they feel relief from pain. Grandmother insisted on
his drinking a glass of Virginia apple-brandy after his long