, stamping the snow from their boots and swinging their arms.

"Gee! it's cold!" cried the youngest, keeping in a far corner, out of
way of the warmth from the stove, and thumping his toes alternately as
he moved in a circle. "Sloughs are frozen to the bottom. Didn't catch a
thing, and had to use the ax to chop out the traps every place we'd
set."

Dinner was eaten in silence that Christmas day. The family could not
help contrasting the meal with those served on former like occasions.
Since nearly all the turkeys and chickens had perished in the fire, and
what few remained were being kept over for the following year, no plump
fowl lay, shins in air, before the eldest brother. A small piece of
baked pork held the place of honor, surrounded by the never-absent dish
of boiled wheat, the plate of precious white biscuits, and some
sweetened corn-bread. When dinner was over, the big brothers tramped off
to the chain of sloughs, taking with them the violin and the corn their
mother had strung so that the latter could be put on the tree that
afternoon. The little girl and her mother cleared the table and then sat
down to unravel some old wristlets and from them knit new heels and
toes into the big brothers' stockings.

The little girl was very quiet and thoughtful. Her mouth drooped
mournfully, her eyes were wistful. She spoke to her mother only in
answer, and then in monosyllables. Her mother, as she watched her, felt
that the little girl's unhappiness was the last bitter touch to her own
grief, and she was glad when the child put on her dried leggings, her
cap and coat, preparatory to spending an hour in her own room, where
there was no fire.

The mother heard no sound from the other part of the house until the
middle of the short afternoon. Then she caught the notes of a song. A
moment later the little girl came running into the kitchen, her eyes
dancing, and went running out again, carrying a sheet of brown
wrapping-paper and a long piece of white string. No more sounds came
from her room. When she came out at suppertime, dressed for the
evening's entertainment, she was her usual cheerful self, much to the
mystification of her compassionate mother and the big brothers.

There was a false ring of gladness in the sleigh-bells that night as
they came jingling from the stable. For what right have sleigh-bells to
ring when every pocket is flat and when there is no lumpy flour-sack
hidden from sight under the hay in the pung