ood silently before the brave little
tree, flaming red, touched with white, its gold star shining. They
looked at it, and then at each other, while Kate, watching at an angle
across the dining room, distinctly heard Polly say in an awed tone:
"Adam, hadn't we better pray?"

Kate lifted herself full height, and drew a deep breath. "Well, I
guess I manage a little Christmas after this," she said, "and maybe a
Fourth of July, and a birthday, and a few other things. I needn't be
such a coward. I believe I can make it."

From that hour she began trying to think of something she could do that
would bring returns more nearly commensurate with the time and strength
she was spending. She felt tied to Walden because she owned the house,
and could rely on working on shares with Aunt Ollie for winter food;
but there was nothing she could do there and take care of the children
that would bring more than the most meagre living. Still they were
living, each year more comfortably; the children were growing bigger
and stronger; soon they could help at something, if only she could
think what. The time flew, each day a repetition of yesterday's
dogged, soul-tiring grind, until some days Kate was close to despair.
Each day the house grew shabbier; things wore out and could not be
replaced; poverty showed itself more plainly. So three more years of
life in Walden passed, setting their indelible mark on Kate. Time and
again she almost broke the spell that bound her, but she never quite
reached the place where her thought cleared, her heart regained its
courage, her soul dared take wing, and try another flight. When she
thought of it, "I don't so much mind the falling," said Kate to
herself; "but I do seem to select the hardest spots to light on."

Kate sat on the back steps, the sun shone, her nearest neighbour was
spading an onion bed. She knew that presently she would get out the
rake and spade and begin another year's work; but at that minute she
felt too hopeless to move. Adam came and sat on the step beside her.
She looked at him and was surprised at his size and apparent strength.
Someway he gave her hope. He was a good boy, he had never done a mean,
sneaking thing that she knew of. He was natural, normal, mischievous;
but he had not an underhand inclination that she could discover. He
would make a fine-looking, big man, quite as fine as any of the Bates
men; even Adam, 3d, was no handsomer than the fourth Adam would be.