The day had turned dark. The temperature had risen and the air was dank and chilly. The men began to hitch up their horses. "Kind o' thawin' a little," said Uncle Hiram as he got into his sleigh and drove up to the door. "Come on, there. Stop yer cacklin' an' git into this sleigh," he shouted in great good humor to the women and children who stood on the porch. "It'll be snowin' like sixty 'fore we git home." So, one by one, the sleighloads left us with cheery good-bys and a grinding of runners and a jingling of bells. When the last had gone Uncle Peabody and I went into the house. Aunt Deel sat by the stove, old Kate by the window looking out at the falling dusk. How still the house seemed! "There's one thing I forgot," I said as I proudly took out of my wallet the six one-dollar bills which I had earned by working Saturdays and handed three of them to my aunt and three to my uncle, saying: "That is my Christmas present to you. I earned it myself." I remember so well their astonishment and the trembling of their hands and the look of their faces. "It's grand--ayes!" Aunt Deel said in a low tone. She rose in a moment and beckoned to me and my uncle. We followed her through the open door to the other room. "I'll tell ye what I'd do," she whispered. "I'd give 'em to ol' Kate--ayes! She's goin' to stay with us till to-morrow." "Good idee!" said Uncle Peabody. So I took the money out of their hands and went in and gave it to the Silent Woman. "That's your present from me," I said. How can I forget how she held my arm against her with that loving, familiar, rocking motion of a woman who is soothing a baby at her breast and kissed my coat sleeve? She released my arm and, turning to the window, leaned her head upon its sill and shook with sobs. The dusk had thickened. As I returned to my seat by the stove I could dimly see her form against the light of the window. We sat in silence for a little while. Aunt Deel broke it by singing in a low tone as she rocked: "My days are passing swiftly by And I--a pilgrim stranger-- Would not detain them as they fly, These days of toil and danger." Uncle Peabody rose and got a candle and lighted it at the hearth. "Wal, Bart, we'll do the chores, an' then I warn ye that we're goin' to have some fun," he said as he got his lantern. "There's goin' to be some Ol' Sledge played here this evenin' an' I wouldn't wonder if Kate could beat us all." I held the lantern while Uncle Peabody fed the sheep and the two cows and milked--a slight chore these winter days. "There's nothing so cold on earth as a fork stale on a winter night," he remarked as he was pitching the hay. "Wish I'd brought my mittens." "You and I are to go off to bed purty early," he said as we were going back to the house. "Yer Aunt Deel wants to see Kate alone and git her to talk if she can."