nnot at all explain it, but at such moments the circuit
of that dim spiritual battery which each of us conceals within seems to
close, and the full current of contentment flows through our lives.

All the morning as I went about my chores I had a peculiar sense of
expected pleasure. It seemed certain to me that something unusual and
adventurous was about to happen--and if it did not happen offhand, why I
was there to make it happen! When I went in to breakfast (do you know
the fragrance of broiling bacon when you have worked for an hour before
breakfast on a morning of zero weather? If you do not, consider that
heaven still has gifts in store for you!)--when I went in to breakfast,
I fancied that Harriet looked preoccupied, but I was too busy just then
(hot corn muffins) to make an inquiry, and I knew by experience that the
best solvent of secrecy is patience.

"David," said Harriet, presently, "the cousins can't come!"

"Can't come!" I exclaimed.

"Why, you act as if you were delighted."

"No--well, yes," I said, "I knew that some extraordinary adventure was
about to happen!"

"Adventure! It's a cruel disappointment--I was all ready for them."

"Harriet," I said, "adventure is just what we make it. And aren't we to
have the Scotch Preacher and his wife?"

"But I've got such a _good_ dinner."

"Well," I said, "there are no two ways about it: it must be eaten! You
may depend upon me to do my duty."

"We'll have to send out into the highways and compel them to come in,"
said Harriet ruefully.

I had several choice observations I should have liked to make upon this
problem, but Harriet was plainly not listening; she sat with her eyes
fixed reflectively on the coffeepot. I watched her for a moment, then I
remarked:

"There aren't any."

"David," she exclaimed, "how did you know what I was thinking about?"

"I merely wanted to show you," I said, "that my genius is not properly
appreciated in my own household. You thought of highways, didn't you?
Then you thought of the poor; especially the poor on Christmas day; then
of Mrs. Heney, who isn't poor any more, having married John Daniels; and
then I said, 'There aren't any.'"

Harriet laughed.

"It has come to a pretty pass," she said "when there are no poor people
to invite to dinner on Christmas day."

"It's a tragedy, I'll admit," I said, "but let's be logical about it."

"I am willing," said Harriet, "to be as logical as you like."

"Then," I said, "h