Then all parties went home to a family breakfast. Even the servants were called in. Then the children ran about with the étrennes to each other.
“Uncle Gaspard,” Renée said, “I want to take something to my grandfather. He brought me that beautiful chain and cross last year, and I made a cake that Mère Lunde baked, and candied some pears, thinking of him.”
“Perhaps he is not home. You can never tell.”
“He was yesterday. M. Marchand saw him. Will you go?”
“You had better have Mère Lunde. I am busy. But if I can find time I will walk down and meet you. And—Renée, do not go in.”
“I will heed,” she answered smilingly.
The road was hardly broken outside the stockade. Once or twice she slipped and fell into the snow, but it was soft and did not hurt her. Mère Lunde grumbled a little.
“There is a smoke coming from the chimney,” Renée cried joyfully. “Let us go around to the kitchen door.”
They knocked two or three times. They could hear a stir within, and presently the door was opened a mere crack.
“Grandfather,” the child began, “I have come to wish you a good Christmas. I am sorry you were not at church to hear how the little babe Jesus was born for our sakes, and how glad all the stars were, even, so glad that they sang together. And I have brought you some small gifts, a cake I made for you, alone, yesterday. You made me such a beautiful gift last year when I was ill.”