. But--"

"And you know nobody in Old Trail Town could afford any extravagance
this year?"

"Yes," said Mis' Moran, "I do. Still--"

"And if part could and part couldn't, that makes it all the worse, don't
it?"

"I know," said Mis' Moran, "I know."

"Well, then," said Mis' Bates triumphantly, "we've done the only way
there is to do. Land knows, I wish there was another way. But there
ain't."

Mis' Winslow looked up from her overshoes.

"I don't believe there's never 'no other way,'" she said. "There's
always another way...."

"Not without money," said Mis' Bates.

"Money," Mis' Winslow said, "money. That's like setting up one day of
peace on earth, good will to men, and asking admission to it."

"Mis' Winslow," said Mis' Moran, sadly, "what's the use of saying
anything? You know as well as I do that Christmas is abused all up and
down the land, and made a day of expense and extravagance and folks
overspending themselves. And we've stopped all that in Old Trail Town.
And now you're trying to make us feel bad."

"I ain't," said Mis' Winslow, "we felt bad about it already, and you
know it. I'm glad we've stopped all that. But I wish't we had something
to put in its place. I wish't we had."

"What in time are them children doing?" said Mis' Moran, abruptly.

The three women looked. On the side lawn, where a spreading balsam had
been left untrimmed to the ground, stood little Emily Moran and Gussie
and Bennet and Tab and Pep. And the four boys had their caps in their
hands, and Gussie, having untied her own hood, turned to take off little
Emily's. The wind, sweeping sharply round the corner of the house, blew
their hair wildly and caught at muffler ends. Mis' Bates and Mis'
Moran, with one impulse, ran to the side door, and Mis' Winslow
followed.

"Emily," said Mis' Moran, "put on your hood this minute."

"Gussie," said Mis' Bates, "put on your cap this instant second. What
you got it off for? And little Emily doing as you do--I'm su'prised at
you."

The children consulted briefly, then Pep turned to the two women, by now
coming down the path, Mis' Bates with her apron over her head, Mis'
Moran in her shawl.

"Please," said Pep, "it's a funeral. An' we thought we'd ought to take
our caps off till it gets under."

"A funeral," said Mis' Bates. "Who you burying?"

"It's just a rehearsal funeral," Pep explained; "the real one's going to
be Christmas."

By now the two women were restoring hood and sto