Ellen Bourne went through the new-fallen snow
of their wood lot. Her feet left scuffled tracks clouded about by the
brushing of her gown's wet hem and by a dragging corner of shawl. She
came to a little evergreen tree, not four feet tall, with low-growing
boughs, and she stood looking at it until her husband, who was also
following the snow-filled path, overtook her.

"Matthew," she said then, "will you cut me that?"

Matthew Bourne stood with his ax on his shoulder and looked a question
in slow preparation to ask one.

[Illustration: "THE CHILDREN BEGAN TO SING 'GO BURY SAINT NICKLIS'"]

"I just want it," she said; "I've--took a notion."

He said that she had a good many notions, it seemed to him. But he cut
the little tree, with casual ease and no compunctions, and they dragged
it to their home, the soft branches patterning the snow and obscuring
their footprints.

"It's like real Christmas weather," Ellen said. "They can't stop that
coming, anyhow."

In the kitchen Ellen's father sat before the open oven door of the
cooking stove, letting the snow melt from his heavy boots.

"Hey," he said, "I was beginning to think you'd forgot about supper.
What was in the trap?"

At once Ellen began talking rapidly. "Oh," she said, "we'll have some
muffins to-night, father. The kind you like, with--"

"Well, what was in the trap?" the old man demanded peevishly. "Why
don't you answer back? What was, Mat?"

Matthew, drying his ax blade, looked at it with one eye closed.

"Rabbit," he said.

"Where is it?" her father demanded.

"It was a young one--not as big as your fist," Ellen said. "I let it out
before he got there. Where's mother?"

"Just because a thing's young, it ain't holy water," the old man
complained. "Last time it was a squirrel you let go because it was
young--it's like being spendthrift with manna...." he went on.

Ellen's mother appeared, gave over to Ellen the supper preparations,
contented herself with auxiliary offices of china and butter getting,
and talked the while, pleased that she had something to disclose.

"Ben Helders stopped in," she told. "He's going to the City to-morrow.
What do you s'pose after? A boy. He's going to take him to bring up and
work on the farm."

"Where's he going to get the boy?" Ellen asked.

Her mother did not know, but Mrs. Helders was going to have a new
diagonal and she wanted the number of Ellen's pattern. Ben would stop
for it that night.

Evenings thei