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“Well, I can’t say much ez to that,” responded Spindler, still awkwardly, “for you see I don’t know much about it anyway.”

“How long since you’ve seen ’em?” asked Mrs. Price, apparently addressing herself to the stocking.

Spindler gave a weak laugh. “Well, you see, ef it comes to that, I’ve never seen ’em!”

Mrs. Price put the stocking in her lap and opened her direct eyes on Spindler. “Never seen ’em?” she repeated. “Then, they’re not near relations?”

“There are three cousins,” said Spindler, checking them off on his fingers, “a half-uncle, a kind of brother-in-law,–that is, the brother of my sister-in-law’s second husband,–and a niece. That’s six.”

“But if you’ve not seen them, I suppose they’ve corresponded with you?” said Mrs. Price.

“They’ve nearly all of ’em written to me for money, seeing my name in the paper ez hevin’ made a strike,” returned Spindler simply; “and hevin’ sent it, I jest know their addresses.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Price, returning to the stocking.

Something in the tone of her ejaculation increased Spindler’s embarrassment, but it also made him desperate. “You see, Mrs. Price,” he blurted out, “I oughter tell ye that I reckon they are the folks that ‘hevn’t got on,’ don’t you see, and so it seemed only the square thing for me, ez had ‘got on,’ to give them a sort o’ Christmas festival. Suthin’, don’t ye know, like what your brother-in-law was sayin’ last Sunday in the pulpit about this yer peace and goodwill ‘twixt man and man.”

Mrs. Price looked again at the man before her. His sallow, perplexed face exhibited some doubt, yet a certain determination, regarding the prospect the quotation had opened to him. “A very good idea, Mr. Spindler, and one that does you great credit,” she said gravely.

“I’m mighty glad to hear you say so, Mrs. Price,” he said, with an accent of great relief, “for I reckoned to ask you a great favor! You see,” he fell into his former hesitation, “that is–the fact is–that this sort o’ thing is rather suddent to me,–a little outer my line, don’t you see, and I was goin’ to ask ye ef you’d mind takin’ the hull thing in hand and runnin it for me.”

“Running it for you,” said Mrs. Price, with a quick eye-shot from under the edge of her lashes. “Man alive! What are you thinking of?”

“Bossin’ the whole job for me,” hurried on Spindler, with nervous desperation. “Gettin’ together all the things and makin’ ready for ’em,–orderin’ in everythin’ that’s wanted, and fixin’ up the rooms,–I kin step out while you’re doin’ it,–and then helpin’ me receivin’ ’em, and sittin’ at the head o’ the table, you know,–like ez ef you was the mistress.”

“But,” said Mrs. Price, with her frank laugh, “that’s the duty of one of your relations,–your niece, for instance,–or cousin, if one of them is a woman.”

“But,” persisted Spindler, “you see, they’re strangers to me; I don’t know ’em, and I do you. You’d make it easy for ’em,–and for me,–don’t you see? Kinder introduce ’em,–don’t you know? A woman of your gin’ral experience would smooth down all them little difficulties,” continued Spindler, with a vague recollection of the Kansas story, “and put everybody on velvet. Don’t say ‘No,’ Mrs. Price! I’m just kalkilatin’ on you.”

Sincerity and persistency in a man goes a great way with even the best of women. Mrs. Price, who had at first received Spindler’s request as an amusing originality, now began to incline secretly towards it. And, of course, began to suggest objections.

“I’m afraid it won’t do,” she said thoughtfully, awakening to the fact that it would do and could be done. “You see, I’ve promised to spend Christmas at Sacramento with my nieces from Baltimore. And then there’s Mrs. Saltover and my sister to consult.”

But here Spindler’s simple face showed such signs of distress that the widow declared she would “think it over,”–a process which the sanguine Spindler seemed to consider so nearly akin to talking it over that Mrs. Price began to believe it herself, as he hopefully departed.