We drove home in the early Christmas morning. Lettie, warmly wrapped in her cloak, had had a little stroll with her lover in the shrubbery. She was still brilliant, flashing in her movements. He, as he bade her good-bye, was almost beautiful in his grace and his low musical tone. I nearly loved him myself. She was very fond towards him. As we came to the gate where the private road branched from the highway, we heard John say “Thank you”—and looking out, saw our two boys returning from the pit. They were very grotesque in the dark night as the lamplight fell on them, showing them grimy, flecked with bits of snow. They shouted merrily, their good wishes. Lettie leaned out and waved to them, and they cried “’ooray!” Christmas came in with their acclamations. CHAPTER IX LETTIE COMES OF AGE Lettie was twenty-one on the day after Christmas. She woke me in the morning with cries of dismay. There was a great fall of snow, multiplying the cold morning light, startling the slow-footed twilight. The lake was black like the open eyes of a corpse; the woods were black like the beard on the face of a corpse. A rabbit bobbed out, and floundered in much consternation; little birds settled into the depth, and rose in a dusty whirr, much terrified at the universal treachery of the earth. The snow was eighteen inches deep, and drifted in places. “They will never come!” lamented Lettie, for it was the day of her party. “At any rate—Leslie will,” said I. “One!” she exclaimed. “That one is all, isn’t it?” said I. “And for sure George will come, though I’ve not seen him this fortnight. He’s not been in one night, they say, for a fortnight.” “Why not?” “I cannot say.” Lettie went away to ask Rebecca for the fiftieth time if she thought they would come. At any rate the extra woman-help came. It was not more than ten o’clock when Leslie arrived, ruddy, with shining eyes, laughing like a boy. There was much stamping in the porch, and knocking of leggings with his stick, and crying of Lettie from the kitchen to know who had come, and loud, cheery answers from the porch bidding her come and see. She came, and greeted him with effusion. “Ha, my little woman!” he said kissing her. “I declare you are a woman. Look at yourself in the glass now——” She did so—“What do you see?” he asked laughing. “You—mighty gay, looking at me.” “Ah, but look at yourself. There! I declare you’re more afraid of your own eyes than of mine, aren’t you?” “I am,” she said, and he kissed her with rapture. “It’s your birthday,” he said. “I know,” she replied. “So do I. You promised me something.” “What?” she asked. “Here—see if you like it,”—he gave her a little case. She opened it, and instinctively slipped the ring on her finger. He made a movement of pleasure. She looked up, laughing breathlessly at him. “Now!” said he, in tones of finality. “Ah!” she exclaimed in a strange, thrilled voice. He caught her in his arms.