[CHAPTER XIII.]
GIDEON WOLF AND HIS MOTHER BEGIN THE NEW YEAR
TOGETHER.
Before we knew where we were, the last day of the old year was upon us. Time is a thief he is forever stealing upon us, and robbing us of sunny moments. He ripens to destroy. Joy vanishes, but sorrow remains. Never, never, though I live to a hundred, shall I forget that last clay of the old year.
For four days the snow had fallen without cessation--heavy, thick, blinding snow. There was no telling when it would leave off. The streets were a foot deep, and people coming in from the surrounding country related dismal stories of the state of the land. Depend upon it that those who had no occasion to leave their houses were glad enough to shut out the snow and the wind, and sit by their firesides, drinking hot spiced wine. It had been a custom with me at different times of the year, especially on New-year's night, for every person in my house to assemble a little before midnight, for the purpose of drinking more than one steaming glass of wine of Anna's making. That was not the only good cheer in which we indulged and it happened sometimes that friends were with us to help us eat the splendid dishes which Anna cooked for us. This year Anna and I were alone. The day had not been particularly joyous, but although no guests sat at my table I did not allow the old year to go out unrecognized. Exactly as the clock struck eleven my faithful old house-keeper made her appearance, carrying a jug of hot wine, the fragrant steam of which was really delightful.
"I thought I would come a little earlier than usual," said Anna, "in case you might be lonely."
"You did right, Anna," I said.
I filled her glass and mine, and then we shook hands, and drank the toast, "May we all be alive at the birth of another year, in contentment and health!" Then Anna, upon my invitation, sat on the opposite side of the fire, and we disposed ourselves for a chat.
"This is the quietest New Year we have ever spent," I said. "Just before you came in, Anna, I was feeling very melancholy."
"It does no harm, a little melancholy," said Anna, "though this is a week in which happiness should reign. For my part, always at this time I keep thinking of the poor and pitying them, and wishing I could do a great deal for them."
It is only just to the memory of my old Anna to say that she was one of the kindest souls in existence. She was forever giving away--so much so that it was impossible for her to save money--and she never spoke of her charities. It was seldom that she could not see to the bottom of her purse.