ne!

So I tramped past the Pattersons'. The old man, a grumpy old fellow, was
going to the barn with a pail on his arm.

"Merry Christmas," I shouted.

He looked around at me wonderingly and did not reply. At the corners I
met the Newton boys so wrapped in tippets that I could see only their
eyes and the red ends of their small noses. I passed the Williams's
house, where there was a cheerful smoke in the chimney and in the window
a green wreath with a lively red bow. And I thought how happy everyone
must be on a Christmas morning like this! At the hill bridge who should
I meet but the Scotch Preacher himself, God bless him!

"Well, well, David," he exclaimed heartily, "Merry Christmas."

I drew my face down and said solemnly:

"Dr. McAlway, I am on a most serious errand."

"Why, now, what's the matter?" He was all sympathy at once.

"I am out in the highways trying to compel the poor of this
neighbourhood to come to our feast."

The Scotch Preacher observed me with a twinkle in his eye.

"David," he said, putting his hand to his mouth as if to speak in my
ear, "there is a poor man you will na' have to compel."

"Oh, you don't count," I said. "You're coming anyhow."

Then I told him of the errand with our millionaire friends, into the
spirit of which he entered with the greatest zest. He was full of advice
and much excited lest I fail to do a thoroughly competent job. For a
moment I think he wanted to take the whole thing out of my hands.

"Man, man, it's a lovely thing to do," he exclaimed, "but I ha' me
doots--I ha' me doots."

At parting he hesitated a moment, and with a serious face inquired:

"Is it by any chance a goose?"

"It is," I said, "a goose--a big one."

He heaved a sigh of complete satisfaction. "You have comforted my mind,"
he said, "with the joys of anticipation--a goose, a big goose."

So I left him and went onward toward the Starkweathers'. Presently I saw
the great house standing among its wintry trees. There was smoke in the
chimney but no other evidence of life. At the gate my spirits, which had
been of the best all the morning, began to fail me. Though Harriet and I
were well enough acquainted with the Starkweathers, yet at this late
moment on Christmas morning it did seem rather a hair-brained scheme to
think of inviting them to dinner.

"Never mind," I said, "they'll not be displeased to see me anyway."

I waited in the reception-room, which was cold and felt damp. In the