letting a ruddy light stream out, and with it a
savory smell of supper. Tom halloed, and that blue-eyed pudge of a Catty
pounded on the window with her fat little fist. How hot the fire glowed!
Somehow all Christmas seemed waiting in there. It was time to hurry
along. Even Ready came out, shaking his shaggy old sides impatiently in
the snow, and began to dog them, snapping at Jem's heels. Like most old
people, he liked his ease, and was apt to be out of sorts, if meals were
kept waiting. Ready's whims always made Martha laugh as she did when she
was a young girl: they knew each other then, long before Jem was born.

"Come on, old Truepenny," she said, going in.

There _was_ comfort. Nothing in that house, from the red woollen
curtains to the bright poker, which did not have its part to play for
Christmas. Nothing that did not say "Christmas," from Catty's eyes to
the very supper-table. Of course, I don't mean the Christmas dinner,
when I say supper. Tom could have told you. Somewhere in his paunchy
little body he kept a perpetual bill of fare, checked off or unchecked.
He based and stayed his mind now on preparations in the pantry.
Something solid there! A haunch of venison, mince-meat, winter
succotash, a roasted peahen,--and that is the top and crown of Nature's
efforts in the way of fowls. For suppers,--pish! However, Tom ate with
the rest. Mother was hungry; so they were very leisurely, and joked and
laughed to that extent that even Catty was uproarious when they were
through. Then Jem fell to work at the great coals, and battered them
into a rousing fire.

"I'll go and fasten the shutters," said Tom.

Martha Yarrow's back was to the window. She turned sharply. The sickly
white moon lighted up the snow-waste out there; some one might be out in
those frozen fields,--some one who was coming home,--who had been gone
for years,--years. Jem was watching her.

"Leave the windows alone, Tom," he said. "It won't hurt the night to see
my fire."

He pulled his cricket close up to her, and took her hand to pet. It was
cold, and her teeth chattered. However, they were all so snug and close
together, and Christmas, that great warm-hearted day, was so near upon
them, as full of love and hearty, warm enjoyment as the living God could
send it, that its breath filled all their hearts; and presently Martha
Yarrow's face was brighter than Catty's. They were noisy and busy
enough. The programme for to-morrow was to make out; tha