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“What is that for?” asked Dolly, pointing solemnly with her little forefinger, and speaking under her breath.

“Dear child, that is the picture of my poor boy who died–ever so many years ago. That is my cross–we have all one–to carry.”

Dolly did not half understand these words, but she saw tears in the gentle old lady’s eyes and was afraid to ask more.

She accepted thankfully and with her nicest and best executed courtesy a Christmas cooky representing a good-sized fish, with fins all spread and pink sugar-plums for eyes, and went home marveling yet more about this mystery of Christmas.

As she was crossing the green to go home the Poganuc stage drove in, with Hiel seated on high, whipping up his horses to make them execute that grand entree which was the glory of his daily existence.

Now that the stage was on runners, and slipped noiselessly over the smooth frozen plain, Hiel cracked his whip more energetically and shouted louder, first to one horse then to another, to make up for the loss of the rattling wheels; and he generally had the satisfaction of seeing all the women rushing distractedly to doors and windows, and imagined them saying, “There’s Hiel; the stage is in!”

“Hulloa, Dolly!” he called out, drawing up with a suddenness which threw the fore-horses back upon their haunches. “I’ve got a bundle for your folks. Want to ride? You may jest jump up here by me and I’ll take you ’round to your father’s door;” and so Dolly reached up her little red-mittened hand, and Hiel drew her up beside him.

“‘Xpect ye want a bit of a ride, and I’ve got a bundle for Widder Badger, down on South Street, so I guess I’ll go ’round that way to make it longer. I ‘xpect this ‘ere bundle is from some of your ma’s folks in Boston–‘Piscopals they be and keeps Christmas. Good-sized bundle ’tis; reckon it’ll come handy in a good many ways.”

So, after finishing his detour, Hiel landed his little charge at the parsonage door.

“Reckon I’ll be over when I’ve put up my hosses,” he said to Nabby when he handed down the bundle to her. “I hain’t been to see you much lately, Nabby, and I know you’ve been a-pinin’ after me, but fact is–“

“Well, now, Hiel Jones, you jest shet up with your imperence,” said Nabby, with flashing eyes; “you jest look out or you’ll get suthin.”

“I ‘xpect to get a kiss when I come ’round to-night,” said Hiel, composedly. “Take care o’ that air bundle, now; mebbe there’s glass or crockery in’t.”

“Hiel Jones,” said Nabby, “don’t give me none o’ your saace, for I won’t take it. Jim Sawin said last night you was the brassiest man he ever see. He said there was brass enough in your face to make a kettle of.”

“You tell him there’s sap enough in his head to fill it, anyway,” said Hiel. “Good bye, Nabby, I’ll come ’round this evenin’,” and he drove away at a rattling pace, while Nabby, with flushed cheeks and snapping eyes, soliloquized:

“Well, I hope he will come! I’d jest like a chance to show him how little I care for him.”

Meanwhile the bundle was soon opened, and contained a store of treasures: a smart little red dress and a pair of red shoes for Dolly, a half dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for Dr. Cushing, and “Robinson Crusoe” and “Sanford and Merton,” handsomely bound, for the boys, and a bonnet trimming for Mrs. Cushing. These were accompanied by a characteristic letter from Aunt Debby Kittery, opening as follows:

“DEAR SISTER:

“Mother worries because she thinks you won’t get any Christmas presents. However, this comes to give every one of you some of the crumbs which fall from the church’s table, and Mother says she wishes you all a pious Christmas, which she thinks is better than a merry one. If I didn’t lay violent hands on her she would use all our substance in riotous giving of Christmas presents to all the beggars and chimney sweeps in Boston. She is in good health and talks daily of wanting to see you and the children; and I hope before long you will bring some of them, and come and make us a visit.