walk in the
cold, and when a faint flush came up in his cheeks, his features might
have been cut out of a shell, they were so transparent. He said almost
nothing, and smiled rarely; but as he rested there we all had a sense of
his utter content.

As it grew dark, I asked whether I might light the Christmas tree before
the lamp was brought. When the candle-ends sent up their conical yellow
flames, all the coloured figures from Austria stood out clear and full
of meaning against the green boughs. Mr. Shimerda rose, crossed himself,
and quietly knelt down before the tree, his head sunk forward. His
long body formed a letter 'S.' I saw grandmother look apprehensively at
grandfather. He was rather narrow in religious matters, and sometimes
spoke out and hurt people's feelings. There had been nothing strange
about the tree before, but now, with some one kneeling before
it--images, candles... Grandfather merely put his finger-tips to his
brow and bowed his venerable head, thus Protestantizing the atmosphere.

We persuaded our guest to stay for supper with us. He needed little
urging. As we sat down to the table, it occurred to me that he liked
to look at us, and that our faces were open books to him. When his
deep-seeing eyes rested on me, I felt as if he were looking far ahead
into the future for me, down the road I would have to travel.

At nine o'clock Mr. Shimerda lighted one of our lanterns and put on his
overcoat and fur collar. He stood in the little entry hall, the lantern
and his fur cap under his arm, shaking hands with us. When he took
grandmother's hand, he bent over it as he always did, and said slowly,
'Good woman!' He made the sign of the cross over me, put on his cap and
went off in the dark. As we turned back to the sitting-room, grandfather
looked at me searchingly. 'The prayers of all good people are good,' he
said quietly.

XIII

THE WEEK FOLLOWING Christmas brought in a thaw, and by New Year's Day
all the world about us was a broth of grey slush, and the guttered slope
between the windmill and the barn was running black water. The soft
black earth stood out in patches along the roadsides. I resumed all my
chores, carried in the cobs and wood and water, and spent the afternoons
at the barn, watching Jake shell corn with a hand-sheller.

One morning, during this interval of fine weather, Antonia and her
mother rode over on one of their shaggy old horses to pay us a visit.
It was the first time