“Yes, yes, I know, wife,” and Uncle Obed lifted his head suddenly. “Should I be an old fool to go to New York to-morrow and inquire?” Aunt Hannah had done with kissing years ago, but now her arms were around her husband’s neck in a trice, and her cheek was laid to his as she kissed him fervently, while the great tears choked her utterance and kept her from answering. But she was understood, and the next morning, while the bell was ringing for church and the Christmas sun was shining brightly over the earth, Uncle Obed sat in a corner of the car which was taking him to New York and, as he hoped, to the lost ones he sought. Aunt Hannah ate her Christmas dinner alone that day, and after it was over went to Agatha’s room and kindled a fire upon the hearth, and felt her pulse beat with a new hope as she watched the flames lapping the bits of pine and then leaping up the chimney mouth. “He may not be home in three or four days,” she said to herself, “but it’s well to be ready; and the room needs airing so much.” So she opened both the windows, and brushed the snow from the stools, and made the bed up fresh and clean, and gave the pillows a loving pat as she put them in their places, and moved Agatha’s favorite chair nearer to the fire, and put the book of Psalms upon it, with “Doddridge’s Rise and Progress,” and by way of variety laid beside them one of the Waverly Novels which Agatha used to like so much and prefer to Doddridge or the Psalms. This done, she shut the windows but left the blinds open to let the sunshine in, thinking to herself as she went out and closed the door, “I’ll build a fire every day until he comes back with ’em.” Alas for Aunt Hannah praying so often and waiting so anxiously for him and them, she little knows how long and severely her faith is to be tested, or of the rich fruition which will crown that faith at last. CHAPTER II. CHRISTMAS EVE IN NEW YORK.