ushions of
the chill and funereal parlor sofa, and the small Minnie peering in to
feast her eyes upon its blond and waxen beauty.

"Here," she had said, "take this, and sew it on the head, so Minnie'll
have something she can hold, at least." And she had wrapped a pink
cambric, sawdust-stuffed body in with the head.

It was a snowy and picturesque Christmas, and intensely cold, with the
hard, dry, cutting cold of Wisconsin. Near the door the little store
was freezing. Every time the door opened it let in a blast. Near the big
glowing stove it was very hot.

The aisles were packed so that sometimes it was almost impossible to
wedge one's way through. The china plates, stacked high, fairly melted
away, as did the dolls piled on the counters. Mrs. Brandeis imported
her china and dolls, and no store in Winnebago, not even Gerretson's big
department store, could touch them for value.

The two women scarcely stopped to eat in the last ten days of the
holiday rush. Often Annie, the girl who had taken Mattie's place in the
household, would bring down their supper, hot and hot, and they would
eat it quickly up in the little gallery where they kept the sleds,
and doll buggies, and drums. At night (the store was open until ten or
eleven at Christmas time) they would trudge home through the snow, so
numb with weariness that they hardly minded the cold. The icy wind cut
their foreheads like a knife, and made the temples ache. The snow, hard
and resilient, squeaked beneath their heels. They would open the front
door and stagger in, blinking. The house seemed so weirdly quiet and
peaceful after the rush and clamor of the store.

"Don't you want a sandwich, Mother, with a glass of beer?"

"I'm too tired to eat it, Fanny. I just want to get to bed."

Fanny grew to hate the stock phrases that met her with each customer. "I
want something for a little boy about ten. He's really got everything."
Or, "I'm looking for a present for a lady friend. Do you think a plate
would be nice?" She began to loathe them--these satiated little boys,
these unknown friends, for whom she must rack her brains.

They cleared a snug little fortune that Christmas. On Christmas Eve they
smiled wanly at each other, like two comrades who have fought and bled
together, and won. When they left the store it was nearly midnight.
Belated shoppers, bundle-laden, carrying holly wreaths, with strange
handles, and painted heads, and sticks protruding from lumpy brown