There happened to be some truth in this dark prophecy, but none of the kind that the misogynist supposed. In fact, Spindler had called a few evenings before at the house of the Rev. Mr. Saltover, and Mrs. Saltover, having one of her “Saleratus headaches,” had turned him over to her widow sister, Mrs. Huldy Price, who obediently bestowed upon him that practical and critical attention which she divided with the stocking she was darning. She was a woman of thirty-five, of singular nerve and practical wisdom, who had once smuggled her wounded husband home from a border affray, calmly made coffee for his deceived pursuers while he lay hidden in the loft, walked four miles for that medical assistance which arrived too late to save him, buried him secretly in his own “quarter section,” with only one other witness and mourner, and so saved her position and property in that wild community, who believed he had fled. There was very little of this experience to be traced in her round, fresh-colored brunette cheek, her calm black eyes, set in a prickly hedge of stiff lashes, her plump figure, or her frank, courageous laugh. The latter appeared as a smile when she welcomed Mr. Spindler. “She hadn't seen him for a coon's age,” but “reckoned he was busy fixin' up his new house.” “Well, yes,” said Spindler, with a slight hesitation, “ye see, I'm reckonin' to hev a kinder Christmas gatherin' of my”--he was about to say “folks,” but dismissed it for “relations,” and finally settled upon “relatives” as being more correct in a preacher's house. Mrs. Price thought it a very good idea. Christmas was the natural season for the family to gather to “see who's here and who's there, who's gettin' on and who isn't, and who's dead and buried. It was lucky for them who were so placed that they could do so and be joyful.” Her invincible philosophy probably carried her past any dangerous recollections of the lonely grave in Kansas, and holding up the stocking to the light, she glanced cheerfully along its level to Mr. Spindler's embarrassed face by the fire. “Well, I can't say much ez to that,” responded Spindler, still awkwardly, “for you see I don't know much about it anyway.” “How long since you've seen 'em?” asked Mrs. Price, apparently addressing herself to the stocking. Spindler gave a weak laugh. “Well, you see, ef it comes to that, I've never seen 'em!” Mrs. Price put the stocking in her lap and opened her direct eyes on Spindler. “Never seen 'em?” she repeated. “Then, they're not near relations?” “There are three cousins,” said Spindler, checking them off on his fingers, “a half-uncle, a kind of brother-in-law,--that is, the brother of my sister-in-law's second husband,--and a niece. That's six.” “But if you've not seen them, I suppose they've corresponded with you?” said Mrs. Price.