grew to take it for granted and sometimes wondered why she _imagined_
her lot different.

She piled on more wood now, and laughed at the roar and glow. Then she
drew up the arm-chair that Jude liked; he would be cold and tired when
he returned. With a little laugh she pulled her own chair, a low, deep
rocker, from the bay window, out into the fire's warmth, opposite Jude's
spacious chair. Between them she placed a hassock--it was nearer her
rocker than Jude's chair.

This she evidently noticed after a moment's contemplation, for the smile
faded, and with strict impartiality she moved the stool to a position
exactly between the two chairs, and directly in front of the fire's
full light and heat.

"There!" she said, as if satisfied with her own sense of justice and
propriety. "That ought to suit everybody."

The smile returned, and the little neglected song was taken up where the
imagined footsteps had interrupted it.

The room was rosy and warm; even the window that was to tempt Providence
was cosily heated, and the box of plants that fringed its outer edge
stood in no danger of the frost's touch.

A plate of deep-red apples on the table sent forth a homely fragrance,
and they were almost as beautiful as a vase of roses would have been.

Presently there was no mistake--steps were approaching. The crusted snow
gave way under the heavy tread, the steps of the little porch creaked
under the weight of strong bodies. It was Gaston's voice that came first
to Joyce.

"It's too late, Jude. Past nine."

"Come in! Come in!" Jude was stamping noisily. "It ain't never too late,
when I say come. Maybe Joyce can tempt you with a mixture she's a
dabster at. After the walk you need it, and so do I."

The outer door was pushed back, the waiting cold rushed in with the two
men, but the home glow killed it as the kitchen door swayed inward, and
Jude and Gaston stepped toward Joyce.

She stood with her back to the fire, a pale straight figure against the
red light.

"Hello! Joyce." Jude was energetically pulling off his short, thick
jacket. "Get busy at that 'mix' of yours. Put plenty of the real thing
in and don't be sparing with the tasties. Off with your coat and hat,
Mister Gaston. Make yourself comfortable. To folks as is already up,
what's an hour or two?"

Gaston had taken Joyce's hands in welcome.

"It's too bad," he said, "to set you to work after your stint's over.
The room looks as if you'd bewitched it. I tell