"Jim." "Lordy, lordy!" Snedeker breathed. Spellbound, he looked at the hat. Then he took his battered headpiece off, opened the door, and threw it into the snow. The new hat he smoothed over his shaggy locks, and reached up to touch it as though he could not believe it was there. Snedeker strode across the floor, threw both arms around Barbara, and kissed her. Barbara blushed. The whistling wind played with the shingles on the cabin and plucked at the chinking in the logs. Absorbed in their presents, the youngsters scarcely glanced up. A coyote on the ridge behind the cabin began to yell. Then the outside noises quieted for a moment and Emma's clear voice sang, "God rest ye merry, gentlemen, Let nothing ye dismay--" Joe joined in the centuries-old hymn, then Barbara and Ellis, and the children. Jim Snedeker retreated to the background. He took his hat off and stood silently, and in that moment he revealed completely the man within his hard outer shell. Emma led the next carol, "The first Noel the angels did say, Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;" Outside, the wind howled louder, and the coyote yelled again. But they seemed strange and far-off noises that had no relation whatever with the cabin or with those inside it. The spirit of the season was theirs, and they were one with Him who had died for them. The last notes of the last carol still trembled in the cabin when Emma smiled graciously, "Jim, you and Ellis are to have dinner with us tomorrow. There'll be pumpkin pie and roast antelope." "Wait a bit, ma'am," Snedeker protested. "Did you say antelope?" "Yes, Jim." "Reckon not," Snedeker decided. "You just wait a bit. Don't leave your hosses gallop away an' I'll be back." He put his new hat tenderly on his head and left the cabin. Presently he was back, with a huge smoked ham dangling from his right hand. It was one Snedeker had been hoarding for his own use, and the last ham at the post, but he gave it freely. "Better Christmas dinner than antelope," he affirmed. Emma's eyes shone with her pleasure at the prospect of a traditional Christmas feast. "Oh! Thank you, Jim!" "Welcome, ma'am! Plain welcome! I ain't had a Christmas like this sinst I was eight years old. Well, I'll be shaggin' along. Comin', Ellis?" "Soon." Ellis lingered until the children were in bed, then bade a reluctant good night and prepared to leave. Emma got her coat. "Would you mind walking me to the store, Ellis? I do need a bit of sugar." "I'll be happy to, Mrs. Tower." "Let me--" Joe began. Emma said quickly, "No, you stay here, Joe. I'll get it." Ellis held the door for her and they stepped into the brisk night. Emma waited for him to join her. "Brr! Isn't it cold?" "It certainly is." She sensed his uncertainty, his embarrassment, and did her best to put him at ease. "Come. Walk beside me." She slipped her hand through his arm and drew him a bit closer.