unless you shout, for the howling
and screaming and whistling of the blast.

But now and then, once in four or five years perhaps, the feathery snow
lies a foot deep, fresh-fallen, on the still country-side and in the
woods; and the waxing moon sheds her large light on all, and Nature
holds her breath to wait for the happy day, and tries to sleep but
cannot, from sheer happiness and peace. Indoors the fire is glowing on
the wide hearth, a great bed of coals that will last all night, because
it is not bitter weather, but only clear and cold and still, as it
should be; or if there is only a poor stove, like Overholt's, the wide
door is open, and a comfortable and cheery red light shines out from
within upon the battered iron plate and the wooden floor beyond; and the
older people sit round it, not saying much, but thinking with their
hearts rather than with their heads; but small boys and girls know that
interesting things have been happening in the kitchen all the afternoon,
and are rather glad that the supper was not very good, because there
will be the more room for good things to-morrow; and the grown-ups and
the children have made up any little differences of opinion they may
have had before supper-time, because Good Will must reign, and reign
alone, like Alexander; so that there is nothing at all to regret, and
nothing hurts anybody any more, and they are all happy in just wishing
for King Christmas to open the door softly and make them all great
people in his kingdom. But if it is the right sort of house, he is
already looking in through the window, to be sure that every one is all
ready for him, and that nothing has been forgotten.

Now, although Overholt's cottage was a miserable place for a professor
who had lived very comfortably and well in a College town, and although
the thirteen-year-old boy could remember several pretty trees, lighted
up with coloured candles and gleaming with tinsel and gilt apples, they
both felt that this was going to be the greatest Christmas in their
lives, because the motionless Motor was going to move, and that would
mean everything--most of all to both of them, the end of the mother's
exile, and her speedy home-coming. Therefore neither said anything for a
long time while the chemical stuff was slowly warming itself and
getting ready, inside a big iron pot, of which the cover was screwed on
with a high-temperature thermometer sealed in it, and which stood on the
top of the stove