ur Christmas, after all!"

"Not quite!"

Newton laughed joyfully, and, turning round, he saw the little City
smiling on its board in the strong light, with the tiny red and green
wreaths in the windows and the pretty booths, and the crowds of little
people buying Christmas presents at them.

"They're going to have a pretty good time in the City too," the boy
observed. "They know just as well as we do that Hope has come to stay
now!"

But Overholt did not hear. Silent and rapt he sat in his old Shaker
rocking-chair gazing steadily at the great success of his life, that was
moving ceaselessly before his eyes, where motionless failure had sat
mocking him but a few minutes ago; and as the wheel whirled steadily
round and round, throwing off a little breeze like a fan, the cruel past
was wafted away like a mist by a morning wind, and the bright future
floated in and filled its place altogether and more also, as daylight
shows the distance which was all hidden from us by the close darkness
we groped in before it rose.

Overholt sat still, and saw, and wondered, and little by little the
wheel and the soft vision of near happiness hypnotised him, for his body
and brain were weary beyond words to tell, so that all at once his eyes
were shut and he was sleeping like a child, as happy in dreamland as he
had just been awake; and happier far, for there was a dear presence with
him now, a hand he loved lay quietly in his, and he heard a sweet low
voice that was far away.

The boy saw, and understood, for ever since he had been very small he
had been taught that he must not wake his father, who slept badly at all
times, and little or not at all when he was anxious. So Newton would not
disturb him now, and at once formed a brave resolution to sit bolt
upright all night, if necessary, for fear of making any noise. Besides,
he did not feel at all sleepy. There was the Motor to look at, and there
was Christmas to think of, and it was bright and clear outside where the
snow was like silver, under the young moon. He could look out of the
window as he sat, or at his father, or at the beautiful moving engine,
or at the little City of Hope, all without doing more than just turning
his head.

To tell the truth, it was not really a great sacrifice he was making,
for if there is anything that strikes a boy of thirteen as more wildly
exciting than anything else in the world, it is to sit up all night
instead of going to bed like a Christi