is keen, the world gray and cheerless.

My sister is close beside me in the straw. Frank is asleep. I am on my
knees looking ahead. Suddenly with rush of wind and clatter of hoofs, we
enter the gloom of a forest and the road begins to climb. I see the
hills on the right. I catch the sound of wheels on a bridge. I am cold.
I snuggle down under the robes and the gurgle of ice-bound water is
fused with my dreams.

I am roused at last by Uncle David's pleasant voice, "Wake up, boys, and
pay y'r lodging!" I look out and perceive him standing beside the wheel.
I see a house and I hear the sound of Deborah's voice from the
warmly-lighted open door.

I climb down, heavy with cold and sleep. As I stand there my uncle
reaches up his arms to take my mother down. Not knowing that she has a
rheumatic elbow, he squeezes her playfully. She gives a sharp scream,
and his team starts away on a swift run around the curve of the road
toward the gate. Dropping my mother, he dashes across the yard to
intercept the runaways. We all stand in silence, watching the flying
horses and the wonderful race he is making toward the gate. He runs with
magnificent action, his head thrown high. As the team dashes through the
gate his outflung left hand catches the end-board of the wagon,--he
leaps into the box, and so passes from our sight.

We go into the cottage. It is a small building with four rooms and a
kitchen on the ground floor, but in the sitting room we come upon an
open fireplace,--the first I had ever seen, and in the light of it sits
Grandfather McClintock, the glory of the flaming logs gilding the edges
of his cloud of bushy white hair. He does not rise to greet us, but
smiles and calls out, "Come in! Come in! Draw a cheer. Sit ye down."

A clamor of welcome fills the place. Harriet and I are put to warm
before the blaze. Grandad takes Frank upon his knee and the cutting wind
of the gray outside world is forgotten.

This house in which the McClintocks were living at this time, belonged
to a rented farm. Grandad had sold the original homestead on the
LaCrosse River, and David who had lately married a charming young
Canadian girl, was the head of the family. Deborah, it seems, was also
living with him and Frank was there--as a visitor probably.

The room in which we sat was small and bare but to me it was very
beautiful, because of the fire, and by reason of the merry voices which
filled my ears with music. Aunt Rebecca brought to us