en and often the vanes went
round, and we hoped for change of weather; the only change was that it
seemed (if possible) to grow colder. Indeed, after a week or so, the
wind would regularly box the compass (as the sailors call it) in the
course of every day, following where the sun should be, as if to make
a mock of him. And this of course immensely added to the peril of the
drifts; because they shifted every day; and no skill or care might learn
them.

I believe it was on Epiphany morning, or somewhere about that period,
when Lizzie ran into the kitchen to me, where I was thawing my
goose-grease, with the dogs among the ashes--the live dogs, I mean, not
the iron ones, for them we had given up long ago,--and having caught
me, by way of wonder (for generally I was out shoveling long before my
'young lady' had her nightcap off), she positively kissed me, for the
sake of warming her lips perhaps, or because she had something proud to
say.

'You great fool, John,' said my lady, as Annie and I used to call her,
on account of her airs and graces; 'what a pity you never read, John!'

'Much use, I should think, in reading!' I answered, though pleased with
her condescension; 'read, I suppose, with roof coming in, and only this
chimney left sticking out of the snow!'

'The very time to read, John,' said Lizzie, looking grander; 'our worst
troubles are the need, whence knowledge can deliver us.'

'Amen,' I cried out; 'are you parson or clerk? Whichever you are,
good-morning.'

Thereupon I was bent on my usual round (a very small one nowadays), but
Eliza took me with both hands, and I stopped of course; for I could not
bear to shake the child, even in play, for a moment, because her back
was tender. Then she looked up at me with her beautiful eyes, so large,
unhealthy and delicate, and strangely shadowing outward, as if to spread
their meaning; and she said,--

'Now, John, this is no time to joke. I was almost frozen in bed last
night; and Annie like an icicle. Feel how cold my hands are. Now, will
you listen to what I have read about climates ten times worse than this;
and where none but clever men can live?'

'Impossible for me to listen now, I have hundreds of things to see to;
but I will listen after breakfast to your foreign climates, child. Now
attend to mother's hot coffee.'

She looked a little disappointed, but she knew what I had to do; and
after all she was not so utterly unreasonable; although she did
read bo