both came with me to
the door seeming greatly improved in spirits.

"You've given us something to live for, Mr. Grayson," said Mrs.
Starkweather.

So I walked homeward in the highest spirits, and an hour or more later
who should we see in the top of our upper field but Mr. Starkweather and
his wife floundering in the snow. They reached the lane literally
covered from top to toe with snow and both of them ruddy with the cold.

"We walked over," said Mrs. Starkweather breathlessly, "and I haven't
had so much fun in years."

Mr. Starkweather helped her over the fence. The Scotch Preacher stood
on the steps to receive them, and we all went in together.

I can't pretend to describe Harriet's dinner: the gorgeous brown goose,
and the apple sauce, and all the other things that best go with it, and
the pumpkin pie at the end--the finest, thickest, most delicious pumpkin
pie I ever ate in all my life. It melted in one's mouth and brought
visions of celestial bliss. And I wish I could have a picture of Harriet
presiding. I have never seen her happier, or more in her element. Every
time she brought in a new dish or took off a cover it was a sort of
miracle. And her coffee--but I must not and dare not elaborate.

And what great talk we had afterward!

I've known the Scotch Preacher for a long time, but I never saw him in
quite such a mood of hilarity. He and Mr. Starkweather told stories of
their boyhood--and we laughed, and laughed--Mrs. Starkweather the most
of all. Seeing her so often in her carriage, or in the dignity of her
home, I didn't think she had so much jollity in her. Finally she
discovered Harriet's cabinet organ, and nothing would do but she must
sing for us.

"None of the new-fangled ones, Clara," cried her husband: "some of the
old ones we used to know."

So she sat herself down at the organ and threw her head back and began
to sing:

"Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day----,"

Mr. Starkweather jumped up and ran over to the organ and joined in with
his deep voice. Harriet and I followed. The Scotch Preacher's wife
nodded in time with the music, and presently I saw the tears in her
eyes. As for Dr. McAlway, he sat on the edge of his chair with his hands
on his knees and wagged his shaggy head, and before we got through he,
too, joined in with his big sonorous voice:

"Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art----,"

Oh, I can't tell here--i