“O, Eve, she gathered the pippins, Adam did the pomace make; When the brandy told upon ’em, They accused the leetle snake!” Another thoughtfully snuffed the tallow dip, which for a few moments burned with a brighter, more cheerful light, then fell into a tearful despondency and bade fair to weep itself away. Outside the little house the black night had fallen, and the wind was raging among the trees. All the stars seemed in motion, flying to board a fleet of flaky white clouds that were crossing the sky under full sail. The moon, a spherical shadow with a crescent of burnished silver, was speeding toward the west; not a gleam fell from its disk upon the swaying, leafless trees--it seemed only to make palpable the impenetrable gloom that immersed the earth. The air had grown keen and cold, and it rushed in at the door as it was opened with a wintry blast. A man entered, with the slow, lounging motion peculiar to the mountaineers, bearing in his hand a jug of jovial aspect. The four Brices looked up from under their heavy brows with sharp scrutiny to discern among the deep shadows cast by the tallow dip who the newcomer might be. Their eyes returned to gaze with an affected preoccupation upon the still, and in this significant hush the ignored visitor stood surprised and abashed on the threshold. The cold inrushing mountain wind, streaming like a jet of seawater through the open door, was rapidly lowering the temperature of the room. This contemptuous silence was too fraught with discomfort to be maintained. “Ef ye air a-comin’ in,” said Aaron Brice, ungraciously, “come along in. An’ ef ye air a-goin’ out go ’long. Anyway, jes’ ez ye choose, ef ye’ll shet that thar door, ez I don’t see ez ye hev any call ter hold open.”