It was not strange, therefore, that, as he stood before the fire on that New Year's eve, the face of old John Rumble wore a contented smile. The knowledge of having done good brings content, if it brings nothing else; and the pawnbroker knew that he had done well by his customers, and he thought, also, that his customers had done well by him, as he surveyed his full shelves. While he stood there musing, the door of the sitting-room was opened and his daughter appeared. "Come, father," said the girl. "If you don't hurry you will not have the punch ready by midnight." The old man's face assumed an anxious expression, and he started with a roll for the sitting-room. Not to have the punch ready to drink in the New Year at the stroke of midnight, would indeed be a calamity. He had never failed to welcome the New Year with a brimming cup. His father had done so before him, his daughter had done so with him, and he hoped his grandchildren would do so after him. "Bring the punch-bowl, Fanny," he said, as he went to a cupboard and took out a big black bottle. His daughter brought him an old-fashioned blue china bowl and hot water, and while he made the punch, Maxwell told him of his plans for the coming year, about which he had been talking with Fanny. Arthur Maxwell, who was a civil-engineer, had been followed by ill-fortune for some time. Indeed, he made Rumble's acquaintance in a purely business way; but he called it good fortune that had led him to the pawnbroker's door, for otherwise he would not have known Fanny. And now fortune seemed really to smile on him. He had secured a position with a railroad company, and was going to Colorado as an assistant of its chief engineer, who had charge of the construction of a railway there. And then, hesitating, he told the old man that Fanny had promised to be his wife as soon as he could provide a home for her. The pleasure which Rumble had expressed, as Maxwell told of his good fortune, was a little dashed by this last bit of information. Of course he had expected that his daughter would leave him sometime, and he had not been blind to the fact that Maxwell had gained a place in her affections; nevertheless, he was not quite prepared for this news, and it left a shadow on his kindly face. "But, father," said Fanny, advancing quickly, and placing her arm about his neck and her head on his shoulder, "Arthur and I hope that we shall all be together. He may return to New York; but if we have a home in the West you might live with us there." It was a loving, tender look which Rumble gave his daughter as she uttered these words. At that moment the clock began to strike, horns were heard in the street, bells were rung, and in a lull in the storm the musical notes of a chime fell on their ears. Rumble filled the cups, and then, raising his, he said: "Here's to the New Year, and here's to your success, Arthur, and to Fanny's happiness."