It was Christmas eve!

Leaving the train to its devices, Blatchford and his wife (her name was
Sarah), and I with mine (her name was Phebe), walked quickly with our
little sacks out of the station, ploughed and waded along the white
street, not to the Massasoit,--no, but to the old Eagle and Star, which
was still standing, and was a favorite with us youngsters. Good waffles,
maple syrup _ad lib._, such fixings of other sorts as we preferred, and
some liberty. The amount of liberty in absolutely first-class hotels is
but small. A drowsy boy waked, and turned up the gas. Blatchford entered
our names on the register, and cried at once, "By George, Wolfgang is
here, and Dick! What luck!" for Dick and Wolfgang also travel with their
wives. The boy explained that they had come up the river in the
New-Haven train, were only nine hours behind time, had arrived at ten,
and had just finished supper and gone to bed. We ordered rare
beef-steak, waffles, dip-toast, omelettes with kidneys, and omelettes
without; we toasted our feet at the open fire in the parlor; we ate the
supper when it was ready; and we also went to bed; rejoicing that we had
home with us, having travelled with our wives; and that we could keep
our merry Christmas here. If only Wolfgang and Dick and their wives
would join us, all would be well. (Wolfgang's wife was named Bertha, and
Dick's was named Hosanna,--a name I have never met with elsewhere.)

Bed followed; and I am a graceless dog that I do not write a sonnet here
on the unbroken slumber that followed. Breakfast, by arrangement of us
four, at nine. At 9.30, to us enter Bertha, Dick, Hosanna, and Wolfgang,
to name them in alphabetical order. Four chairs had been turned down for
them. Four chops, four omelettes, and four small oval dishes of fried
potatoes had been ordered, and now appeared. Immense shouting, immense
kissing among those who had that privilege, general wondering, and great
congratulating that our wives were there. Solid resolution that we would
advance no farther. Here, and here only, in Springfield itself, would we
celebrate our Christmas day.

It may be remarked in parenthesis that we had learned already that no
train had entered the town since eleven and a quarter; and it was known
by telegraph that none was within thirty-four miles and a half of the
spot, at the moment the vow was made.

We waded and ploughed our way through the snow to church. I think Mr.
Rumfry, if that is the gentle