s, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spiced dainties,
every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.'"

"Yes, that has a real nice sound. It ain't like the Bible, but it's
nice."

They sat and dreamed and the fire flared up into living arabesques and
burnt blue in corners. A stick parted and fell into ash, and Miss Susan
came awake. She had the air of rousing herself with vigor.

"There!" said she, "sometimes I think it's most sinful to make believe,
it's so hard to wake yourself up. Arter all this, I dunno but when Solon
comes for the pigs' kittle to-morrer, I shall ketch myself sayin',
'Here's the frankincense!'"

They laughed together, and the schoolmaster rose to light his lamp. He
paused on his way to the stairs, and came back to set it down again.

"There are lots of people we haven't provided for," he said. "We haven't
even thought what we'd give Jenny."

"I guess Jenny's got her heart's desire." Miss Susan nodded sagely.
"I've sent her a box, with a fruit-cake an' pickles and cheese. She's
all fixed out."

The schoolmaster hesitated, and turned the lamp-wick up and down. Then
he spoke, somewhat timidly, "What should you like to give her father?"

Miss Susan's face clouded with that dreamy look which sometimes settled
upon her eyes like haze.

"Well," said she, "I guess whatever I should give him 'd only make him
laugh."

"Flowers--and velvet--and honey--and myrrh?"

"Yes," answered Miss Susan with gravity. "Perhaps it's jest as well some
things ain't to be had at the shops."

The schoolmaster took up his lamp again and walked to the door.

"We never can tell," he said. "It may be people want things awfully
without knowing it. And suppose they do laugh! They'd better laugh than
cry. _I_ should give all I could. Good-night."

Miss Susan banked up the fire and set her rising of dough on the hearth,
after a discriminating peep to see whether it was getting on too fast.
After that, she covered her plants by the window and blew out the light,
so that the moon should have its way. She lingered for a moment, looking
out into a glittering world. Not a breath stirred. The visible universe
lay asleep, and only beauty waked. She was aching with a tumultuous
emotion--the sense that life might be very fair and shining, if we only
dared to shape it as it seems to us in dreams. The loveliness and
repose of the earth appealed to her like a challenge; they alone made it
seem possible for her also to dare.