ault.

No better course could have been taken to bring Dick to a state of
almost excessive penitence, and remorse speedily overtook him. His
moods were always intense while they lasted; and now he settled down to
his hard daily tasks with a fury of sorrowful determination which Mr.
Collinson regarded doubtfully, considering it too good to continue.
But if Dick grew weary of his resolute toil, he gave no sign.
Outwardly, he was again contented with his lot, and seemed to desire no
other. So well did he work, so cheerful and patient he was, that the
anxious look gradually cleared from Stephanie's face. But Mr.
Collinson, shrewd man that he was, still regarded the boy with a
certain grave and wholly affectionate distrust.

The days passed and November gave place to December. The wheat lay
warm beneath a foot of snow, and Christmas was at hand.

The Collinsons always kept Christmas as nearly as possible in good old
English fashion. Dick and Stephanie, used to all sorts of privation,
thought that the preparations for the coming feast were positively
luxurious.

Everyone at the homestead worked early and late. Mrs. Collinson was
intent upon bread-making; so Dick and Roger ground grain at the
hand-mill, turn and turn about, until they nearly fell asleep over the
handle; and very bad and black would their flour appear to us. The
silent William Charles, who was always called by his full name, seemed
to chop wood incessantly. Mr. Collinson, who always worked so hard
that it was scarcely possible that he could work any harder, found time
to interfere jovially with everything, to the utter confusion of his
wife, who, with Stephanie, was perpetually preparing extra delicacies
for her thriving and hungry household. Stephanie was so busy she had
no time for mournful memories; and Dick did nothing but work, and
sleep, and eat enormously.

It was rough fare they had in those far-off days. But with pork and
mutton, pumpkins for "sass," and pies, maple syrup and sugar, potatoes,
and plenty of barley, rice, eggs, milk and tea, Mrs. Collinson and
Stephanie accomplished wonders. So vast were the preparations that
even the dogs seemed infected with the stir of excitement; and everyone
looked forward to sumptuous faring. To Stephanie, real tea, with milk
and sugar, represented in itself comfort and prosperity; she had been
used to making an unattractive substitute for it with young hemlock
shoots.

That Christmas dinner was