transformation had taken place! If they were bewitching before, now they were entrancing. The gay, laughing, saucy creature who had been dressing the parlors and hanging the mistletoe with many jests and parries of the half-veiled references was now a demure or stately maiden in all the dignity of a new gown and with all the graciousness of a young countess. But this is after the carriages return. They have not yet arrived. They are late--they are always late--and it is dark before they come; the glow of the fires and candles shines out through the windows on the snow, often blackened by the shadows of little figures whose noses are pressed to the cold panes, which grow blurred with their warm breath. Meantime the carriages, piled outside and in, are slowly making their way homeward through the frozen roads, followed by the creaking wagon filled with trunks, on which are haply perched small muffled figures, whose places in the carriages are taken by unexpected guests. The drivers still keep up a running fire with their young masters, though they have long since been pumped dry as to every conceivable matter connected with “home,” in return for which they receive information as to school and college pranks. At last the “big gate” is reached; a half-frozen figure rolls out and runs to open it, flapping his arms in the darkness like some strange, uncanny bird; they pass through; the gleam of a light shines away off on a far hill. The shout goes up, “There she is; I see her!” The light is lost, but a little later appears again. It is the light in the mother’s chamber, the curtains of the windows of which have been left up intentionally, that the welcoming gleam may be seen afar off by her boys on the first hill--a blessed beacon shining from home and her mother’s heart. [Illustration: “_At last the ‘big gate’ is reached._”] Across the white fields the dark vehicles move, then toil up the house hill, filled with their eager occupants, who can scarce restrain themselves; approach the house, by this time glowing with lighted windows, and enter the yard just as the doors open and a swarm rushes out with joyful cries of, “Here they are!” “Yes, here we are!” comes in cheery answer, and one after another they roll or step out, according to age and dignity, and run up the steps, stamping their feet, the boys to be taken fast into motherly arms, and the visitors to be given warm handclasps and cordial welcomes. Later on the children were got to bed, scarce able to keep in their pallets for excitement; the stockings were all hung up over the big fireplace; and the grown people grew gay in the crowded parlors. There was no splendor, nor show, nor style as it would be understood now. Had there been, it could not have been so charming. There were only profusion and sincerity, heartiness and gayety, cordiality and cheer, and withal genuineness and refinement.