"But," he said, "though a continent separates us we meet with them all here to-night before the face of Him who came as a helpless Babe to the world of sin and selfishness, and brought peace and good-will to men." And he read to them how "It came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed," and the story of the Child that is old, yet will be ever new while the world stands. In the reverent hush that had fallen upon the company a tenor voice rose clear and sweet in the old hymn: "It came upon the midnight clear That glorious song of old." When the lines were reached: "Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurl'd," many of the passengers joined in and sang the verse to the end. The familiar words seemed to come with a comforting message to every one in the little cabin. In the excitement they had all forgotten the weather. Unseen by every one the moon had come out and shone clear in an almost cloudless sky. The storm was over. A joyful toot of the rotary's whistle, as dinner neared its end, announced its return with the welcome news that the road was open once more. With many hearty handshakes, and wishes for happy years to come, the unexpected Christmas party broke up. But there was yet a small ceremony left. It was performed by a committee of three of the Overland passengers who had friends or kin on board the train Tom Crogan had saved. They had quietly circulated among the rest, and now, with the conductor shouting "All aboard!" they put an envelope into Tom's hand, with the brief directions "for moving expenses," and jumped on their car as the engine blew its last warning whistle and the airbrakes wheezed their farewell. Tom opened it and saw five crisp twenty-dollar bills tucked neatly inside. The Limited pulled out on the stroke of midnight, with cheering passengers on every step and in every window. Tom and his wife stood upon the step of the little station and waved their handkerchiefs as long as the bull's-eye on the last car was in sight. When it was gone and they were left with the snowshed and the Special breathing sleepily on its siding she laid her head on his shoulder. A rush of repentant tears welled up and mingled with the happiness in her voice. "Oh, Tom!" she said. "Did ye ever know the like of it? I am fair sorry to leave the old shed." THE OLD TOWN