say to you besides 'Merry Christmas,' but I must wait till another
time."

When John got back to the office David had just preceded him.

"Wa'al, wa'al," he was saying, "but you be in a putty consid'able state.
Hullo, John! what you got there? Wa'al, you air the stuff! Slips,
blanket-shawl, petticut, stockin's--wa'al, you an' Polly ben puttin'
your heads together, I guess. What's that? Whisky! Wa'al, scat my ----!
I didn't s'pose wild hosses would have drawed it out o' Polly to let on
the' was any in the house, much less to fetch it out. Jest the thing!
Oh, yes ye are, Mis' Cullom--jest a mouthful with water," taking the
glass from John, "jest a spoonful to git your blood a-goin', an' then
Mr. Lenox an' me 'll go into the front room while you make yourself
comf'table."

"Consarn it all!" exclaimed Mr. Harum as they stood leaning against the
teller's counter, facing the street, "I didn't cal'late to have Mis'
Cullom hoof it up here the way she done. When I see what kind of a day
it was I went out to the barn to have the cutter hitched an' send for
her, an' I found ev'rythin' topsy-turvy. That dum'd uneasy sorril colt
had got cast in the stall, an' I ben fussin' with him ever since. I
clean forgot all 'bout Mis' Cullom till jest now."

"Is the colt much injured?" John asked.

"Wa'al, he won't trot a twenty gait in some time, I reckon," replied
David. "He's wrenched his shoulder some, an' mebbe strained his inside.
Don't seem to take no int'rist in his feed, an' that's a bad sign.
Consarn a hoss, anyhow! If they're wuth anythin' they're more bother 'n
a teethin' baby. Alwus some dum thing ailin' 'em, an' I took consid'able
stock in that colt too," he added regretfully, "an' I could 'a' got
putty near what I was askin' fer him last week, an' putty near what he
was wuth, an' I've noticed that most gen'ally alwus when I let a good
offer go like that, some cussed thing happens to the hoss. It ain't a
bad idee, in the hoss bus'nis anyway, to be willin' to let the other
feller make a dollar once 'n a while."

After that aphorism they waited in silence for a few minutes, and then
David called out over his shoulder, "How be you gettin' along, Mis'
Cullom?"

"I guess I'm fixed," she answered, and David walked slowly back into the
parlor, leaving John in the front office. He was annoyed to realize
that in the bustle over Mrs. Cullom and what followed, he had forgotten
to acknowledge the Christmas gift; but, hoping that Mr. H