air of bedroom slips lined with lamb's wool, an' a pair of woolen
stockin's, an' a blanket shawl. This here petticut, 't ain't what ye'd
call bran' new, but it's warm and comf'table, an' I don't believe she's
got much of anythin' on 'ceptin' her dress, an' I'll git ye the whisky,
but"--here she looked deprecatingly at John--"it ain't gen'ally known 't
we keep the stuff in the house. I don't know as it's right, but though
David don't hardly ever touch it he will have it in the house."

"Oh," said John, laughing, "you may trust my discretion, and we'll swear
Mrs. Cullom to secrecy."

"Wa'al, all right," said Mrs. Bixbee, joining in the laugh as she
brought the bottle; "jest a minute till I make a passel of the things to
keep the snow out. There, now, I guess you're fixed, an' you kin hurry
back 'fore she ketches a chill."

"Thanks very much," said John as he started away. "I have something to
say to you besides 'Merry Christmas,' but I must wait till another
time."

When John got back to the office David had just preceded him.

"Wa'al, wa'al," he was saying, "but you be in a putty consid'able
state. Hullo, John! what you got there? Wa'al, you air the stuff! Slips,
blanket-shawl, petticut, stockin's--wa'al, you an' Polly ben puttin'
your heads together, I guess. What's that? Whisky! Wa'al, scat my----! I
didn't s'pose wild hosses would have drawed it out o' Polly to let on
the' was any in the house, much less to fetch it out. Jes' the thing!
Oh, yes ye are, Mis' Cullom--jest a mouthful with water," taking the
glass from John, "jest a spoonful to git your blood a-goin', an' then
Mr. Lenox an' me 'll go into the front room while you make yourself
comf'table."

"Consarn it all!" exclaimed Mr. Harum as they stood leaning against the
teller's counter, facing the street, "I didn't cal'late to have Mis'
Cullom hoof it up here the way she done. When I see what kind of a day
it was I went out to the barn to have the cutter hitched an' send for
her, an' I found ev'rythin' topsy-turvy. That dum'd uneasy sorril colt
had got cast in the stall, an' I ben fussin' with him ever since. I
clean forgot all 'bout Mis' Cullom till jes' now."

"Is the colt much injured?" John asked.

"Wa'al, he won't trot a twenty gait in some time, I reckon," replied
David. "He's wrenched his shoulder some, an' mebbe strained his inside.
Don't seem to take no int'rist in his feed, an' that's a bad sign.
Consarn a hoss, anyhow! If they're wuth anythin'