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On the day before Christmas, big, soft snowflakes drifted slowly down from a lowering gray sky. The snow melted as soon as it fell, and from the sea a raw, wet wind came whining in; but there might have been worse weather, and Johnny Blossom, at any rate, was well content. He was going out to distribute his presents today. It was so pleasant to take them himself to the different persons. Johnny could say no more, but threw himself flat on the floor and cried. By degrees Mother got him to tell about the big boys, who wanted to ride, about the racing and everything. “Why haven’t we looked for a place for the dam?” Bob ventured at last. “We’ve passed a lot of places where the canyon walls were narrow.”.

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Suppose, for instance, that he went to her house for a little call, as he often did, for Mother liked him to go—and Aunt Grenertsen sometimes had exceedingly good cakes which she called “half moons”; and just now there were these delicious ripe apples. During such calls she could be remarkably disagreeable. “What is the weather today?” she would say; and before he could answer, would add “Oh, well! No use asking you. Children never notice the weather.” Or, “What kind of fish is there nowadays at the wharf?—but you wouldn’t know that.” Or, “Who is to preach tomorrow? Well there! I wonder at my asking you.” “Thank you very much.” He bowed low to Carlstrom when at last he must go home. “Yes, sir,—an engineer rather than anything else!” Emilia saw the time of madame's departure approach with increased distress. They left each other with a mutual sorrow, which did honour to their hearts. When her last friend was gone, Emilia wandered through the forsaken apartments, where she had been accustomed to converse with Julia, and to receive consolation and sympathy from her dear instructress, with a kind of anguish known only to those who have experienced a similar situation. Madame pursued her journey with a heavy heart. Separated from the objects of her fondest affections, and from the scenes and occupations for which long habit had formed claims upon her heart, she seemed without interest and without motive for exertion. The world appeared a wide and gloomy desert, where no heart welcomed her with kindness—no countenance brightened into smiles at her approach. It was many years since she quitted Calini—and in the interval, death had swept away the few friends she left there. The future presented a melancholy scene; but she had the retrospect of years spent in honorable endeavour and strict integrity, to cheer her heart and encouraged her hopes..