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had once sworn was the finest in four counties gave an extra slap to the white loaf ready for the pan.
"However I'm to make the second payment on that sewin' machine next Monday, I'd like to know. Johnsons movin' to Bethel this week, and young Mis' Calvin is goin' to bake her own bread after holidays. There goes seventy-five cents a week. An' Mis' Johnson's the only one that takes her brown loaf regular on Saturday night. Most likely they'll take the machine, an'I can't turn over my hand to stop 'em. I'll have to do Dan's wife's sewin' by hand, but I 'spose she won't much mind s'long as the girls, aperns is done neat."
"Mother!" The small face turned toward the troubled woman. "Mother, it's jest a week, aint it?"
"I guess so, child.—Mebby Mandy Elkins'll let me sew up the long seams on her machine. What was you sayin', Susie May? Jest a week till what?"
"Mother, they're goin' to be a tree to the new church an' Mary Allen's got a piece to speak about the night 'fore Christmas. Mary Allen says they's goin' to be music too. Ef I was to go, mother, I could hear the music, an' sister could tell me how the tree an' the candles looked. I wouldn't be no trouble, mother." The child's voice was sweet and insistent.
Ellen Greyson's shears slid from her lap to the floor with a startling clatter.
"Don't you think no more 'bout goin' to the church, Susie May," said she as she stooped to recover them. "They ain't none of us goin' this year. I ain't goin' to have Dan's wife sayin' as John Greyson's children went to the tree an' didn't get nothin' but their little sack o' popcorn. All the music they'll have won't be much, I c'n tell you. It ain't like it us'ta be when your pa was superintendent of the Sunday School over to the old church." The stern lines about her mouth seemed for a moment to relax. "Well," she resumed, "That clock's five minutes fast, or more, but I guess the bread's ready t'come out. Jenny Graft'll be over 'bout five to
get two dozen o' them light biscuits. Her ma's got the minister's folks to tea. Mrs. Greyson's thin form paused a moment in the doorway of the low kitchen. "You ain't sottin' much on goin' to the tree, I hope, Susie May. You ain't stout enough to go, nohow. The doctor doubted if you'd take a step till spring. Seems like the scarlet fever's never took so hard as it's done this year."
A faint convulsive movement of the crazypatch quilt grew more pronounced as the mother left the room, but ceased altogether as her firm step once more approached the door.
The day had been chill and gray enough, but at his setting the sun shone out as if to prove what miracles may be wrought on sky and snow. His level crimson rays lighted with cruel distinctness the worn face of Ellen Greyson as she bent over her heavy lap board. "I don't spose Dan's wife'd want that kitchen safe now," she mused, searching among her gingham scraps for a piece large enough to cut a little sleeve. "Most likely Dan's fixed her up a swingin' shelf for her jell', an' she wouldn't take it now. Ef she'd low three dollars for it, it 'ud help me out a wonderful sight. I'd get Susie May a cage fer that c'nary Mis' Graft's goin' to give'er. She won't never see a nother spring, an' she'd value that canary bird more'n anything—'less it 'ud be t'see t'un 'bout like Jimmy an' Ellen does. I'll jest slip over after tea an' see what shift she's made for that jill'. I c'n git on real well without that safe, though it is dretful convenient.
The room grew gradually darker; a delicate tracery of frost-work crept from edge to center of the window panes. The silence was broken only by an occasional shout and the swift whir of some late coaster's sled on the sloping street without.
Mrs. Greyson rose and went to the window. "Susie May, I'll haf to do up your geranium in a newspaper tonight, it's so frosty. I'll use the one that come 'round Dan's wife's things. Did you look at the bloom today, child?" She carefully lifted the pot of geraniums and carried it to the bed. Two eager hands crept from be-