d every fire blazing." The girl sprang to her feet and stepped nearer
the hearth. She would be less nervous, she thought, if she moved about,
and then the warmth of the fire was somehow reassuring. "Please let me
light them all, Cousin Annie," she pleaded, reaching out her hand toward
a cluster in an old-fashioned candelabra--"and if there aren't enough
I'll get more from Margaret."

"No, no--one will do. It is an old custom of mine; I've done it for
twenty years."

"But don't you love Christmas?" Kate argued, her nervousness increasing.
The ghostly light and the note of pain in her companion's voice were
strangely affecting.

The Little Gray Lady leaned forward in her chair and looked long and
steadily at the heap of smouldering ashes; then she answered slowly,
each word vibrating with the memory of some hidden sorrow: "I've had
mine, dearie."

"But you can have some more," urged Kate.

"Not like those that have gone before, dearie--no, not like those."

Something in the tones of her voice and quick droop of the dear head
stirred the girl to her depths. Sinking to her knees she hid her face in
the Little Lady's lap.

"And you sit here in the dark with only one candle?" she whispered.

"Yes, always," she answered, her fingers stroking the fair hair. "I can
see those I have loved better in the dark. Sometimes the room is full of
people; I have often to strain my eyes to assure myself that the door is
really shut. All sorts of people come--the girls and boys I knew when I
was young. Some are dead; some are far away; some so near that should I
open the window and shout their names many of them could hear. There are
fewer above ground every year--but I welcome all who come. It's the old
maid's hour, you know--this twilight hour. The wives are making ready
the supper; the children are romping; lovers are together in the corner
where they can whisper and not be overheard. But none of this disturbs
me--no big man bursts in, letting in the cold. I have my chair, my
candle, my thoughts, and my fire. When you get to be my age, Kate, and
live alone--and you might, dearie, if Mark should leave you--you will
love these twilight hours, too."

The girl reached up her hands and touched the Little Gray Lady's cheek,
whispering:

"But aren't you very, _very_ lonely. Cousin Annie?"

"Yes, sometimes."

For a moment Kate remained silent, then she asked in a faltering voice
through which ran a note almost of terror:

"Do you