THE CHRISTMAS BRIDE by Grace Livingston Hill

wife.
    “I think I’m feeling better, Mother. I think I’ll go out and try a hand at milking tonight. Old Sukey has been bawling for fifteen minutes, and it’s getting pretty late. It’ll be dark in a few minutes now.”
    “Oh, Father, don’t! Please! You know Sam said he’d be sure to be here, even if he was late. It’s terribly raw tonight, and you’ll just get all that pain back in your leg again.”
    “No Mother, I won’t. I think it will do me good,” declared Father. “Besides, I’m not going outdoors. I’ll just go through the woodshed into the barn and open the door for Sukey from the inside. Now, Mother, you mustn’t interfere. I’ve been docile as long as I thought it was necessary. But now I really feel I must get back to work again. It doesn’t do to baby oneself too much. I’m not an invalid yet, you know.”
    “No, but you’re trying hard to be. I wish you would wait. Perhaps Sam is coming up the hill now.”
    Mother got up and trotted anxiously to the window.
    “Father, it’s snowing! It really is!” she said in alarm.
    “Well, that’s all the more reason Sukey should get in out of it, and the snow isn’t going to reach me inside the barn. For pity’s sake, be reasonable, Rebecca!”
    Father went to the closet and took down his old coat and cap from the peg. He wound a woolen scarf twice around his neck with elaborate care to show Mother how well protected he was.
    “Put your galoshes on, Father! Yes, you know the ground is damp, and it will strike in all the more because you’ve been sitting by the fire all these days and are tender. You don’t want that pain back in your leg, you know, after all the liniment I’ve rubbed into it.”
    “All right, I’ll put them on,” consented the old man, “but I’m not going out on the ground.”
    “The barn floor is like ice, John. You know it is.”
    “All right, Mother. I’ve got them on. Better get that hot mash ready for the hens, and I can feed them after I bring the milk in. You’re not fit to go out yourself tonight, Mother. I heard you sneezing in the bedroom just now. I’m afraid this business of having a fire only in the kitchen isn’t going to be very economical after all.”
    “Now, Father, you hush. I was just sneezing because I spilled some pepper when I was tidying up the cupboard shelf. Hurry up and get done, if you will go out, for it’s getting dark and growing colder every minute. I’m glad we’ve got plenty of wood in the woodshed. And look around for Emily. She ought to be coming in pretty soon. She’s probably out in the barn hunting mice. She didn’t have a very big dinner today—no meat in the house.”
    Grandmother hurried around and set the table for two, trying to make it look cheery for when Grandfather came in. She put the kettle on, cut two slices of bread for toast, and got out the teapot. On second thought, she got out two eggs from the bowl in the pantry. Father needed to be nourished. He was sort of run down. She cut two pieces of gingerbread and fixed two china dishes of applesauce. Then she went and stood at the window looking down the hill toward the road to watch for Sam Fletcher. How late he was! Perhaps the mail was late and he had waited for it. Oh, she hoped he had! There ought to be a letter tonight. It was almost a week since Margaret had written. She was always so faithful. Could the child be sick?
    Emily was meowing at the door now. She was licking her lips as if she had had a feast of some kind. She came in as soon as the door was open and went over and sat down near the stove, licking her white mitts carefully, scrupulously. There was no light in the room except what came through the front grate of the old cookstove, and the dusk was coming down fast now, but the brightness from the stove made a rosy spot on Emily’s white vest and the white star in her forehead. Emily had been out foraging, browsing around the barn for the last two hours. She had found her prey and was well