When I finally turned the mare around, he stopped me, laid his hand on
my arm and said in a confidential voice:

"I'm glad we discovered that we belong to the same society."

As I drove away I could not help chuckling when I heard his wife ask
suspiciously:

"What society is that?"

I heard no word of his answer: only the note in his voice of eager
explanation.

And so I drove homeward in the late twilight, and as I came up the
lane, the door of my home opened, the light within gleamed kindly and
warmly across the darkened yard: and Harriet was there on the step,
waiting.

II

A DAY OF PLEASANT BREAD

They have all gone now, and the house is very still. For the first time
this evening I can hear the familiar sound of the December wind
blustering about the house, complaining at closed doorways, asking
questions at the shutters; but here in my room, under the green reading
lamp, it is warm and still. Although Harriet has closed the doors,
covered the coals in the fireplace, and said good-night, the atmosphere
still seems to tingle with the electricity of genial humanity.

The parting voice of the Scotch Preacher still booms in my ears:

"This," said he, as he was going out of our door, wrapped like an Arctic
highlander in cloaks and tippets, "has been a day of pleasant bread."

One of the very pleasantest I can remember!

I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. We try to crowd
into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year.
As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through
the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays--let them overtake me
unexpectedly--waking up some fine morning and suddenly saying to myself:

"Why, this is Christmas Day!"

How the discovery makes one bound out of his bed! What a new sense of
life and adventure it imparts! Almost anything may happen on a day like
this--one thinks. I may meet friends I have not seen before in years.
Who knows? I may discover that this is a far better and kindlier world
than I had ever dreamed it could be.

[Illustration: "Merry Christmas, Harriet!"]

So I sing out to Harriet as I go down:

"Merry Christmas, Harriet"--and not waiting for her sleepy reply I go
down and build the biggest, warmest, friendliest fire of the year. Then
I get into my thick coat and mittens and open the back door. All around
the sill, deep on the step, and all about the yard lies the drifted
snow: it has t