"Hail! smiling morn
That tips the hills with gold—"
Gone was his despair. He was still rather sad but his sadness was seasoned with patience. How beautiful the room seemed that night, so homelike, strange and still.
On the opposite side of the hearth to Jethro, Roma sat in an old rocker. She held a half dozen socks in her lap which she was making believe to darn. She had to have something to do with her hands. She was unaccountably nervous. But her mind was not on her darning. She was thinking how beautiful it was on Christmas Eve to have her family all together once more grouped around the fire.
In the window a cheerful lamp glowed steadily, but the light was subdued. It scarcely reached to the group in the firelight glow. Only the flickering flames of the blazing pine log lighted up their faces. It was a drowsy hour and more than once Jethro Trent's eyes closed and he nodded. As the log in the grate
would snap and crackle he would suddenly
