recognized his voice had she heard it, for it
was the first time that the boy had ever given full cry to the
natural voice of youth and his heart. A few stolen races, and sorties
up apple-trees, a few stolen slides had poor Ephraim Thayer had; they
had been snatched in odd minutes, at the imminent danger of
discovery; but now he had the wide night before him; he had broken
over all his trammels, and he was free.

Up and down the hill went Ephraim Thayer, having the one playtime of
his life, speeding on his brother's famous sled against bondage and
deprivation and death. It was after midnight when he went home; all
the village lights were out; the white road stretched before him, as
still and deserted as a road through solitude itself. Ephraim had
never been out-of-doors so late before, he had never been so alone in
his life, but he was not afraid. He was not afraid of anything in the
lonely night, and he was not afraid of his mother at home. He thought
to himself exultantly that Ezra Ray had been no more courageous than
he, although, to be sure, he had not a whipping to fear like Ezra.
His heart was full of joyful triumph that he was not wholly guilty,
since it was the outcome of an innocent desire.

As he walked along he tipped up his face and stared with his stupid
boyish eyes at the stars paling in the full moonlight, and the great
moon herself overriding the clouds and the stars. It made him think
of the catechism and the Commandments, and then a little pang of
terror shot through him, but even that did not daunt him. He did not
look up at the stars again, but bent his head and trudged on, with
the sled-rope pulling at his weak chest.

When he reached his own yard he stepped as carefully as he could;
still he was not afraid. He put the sled back in the shed; then he
stole into the house. He took off his shoes in the entry, and got
safely into his own room. He was in his night-gown and all ready for
bed when another daring thought struck him.

Ephraim padded softly on his bare feet out through the kitchen to the
pantry. Every third step or so he stopped and listened to the heavy
double breathing from the bedroom beyond. So long as that continued
he was safe. He listened, and then slid on a pace or two as noiseless
as a shadow in the moonlight.

Ephraim knew well where the mince-pies were kept. There was a long
row of them covered with towels on an upper shelf.

Ephraim hoisted himself painfully upon a meal-buc