Mrs. Price thought it a very good idea. Christmas was the natural season for the family to gather to “see who's here and who's there, who's gettin' on and who isn't, and who's dead and buried. It was lucky for them who were so placed that they could do so and be joyful.” Her invincible philosophy probably carried her past any dangerous recollections of the lonely grave in Kansas, and holding up the stocking to the light, she glanced cheerfully along its level to Mr. Spindler's embarrassed face by the fire.
“Well, I can't say much ez to that,” responded Spindler, still awkwardly, “for you see I don't know much about it anyway.”
“How long since you've seen 'em?” asked Mrs. Price, apparently addressing herself to the stocking.
Spindler gave a weak laugh. “Well, you see, ef it comes to that, I've never seen 'em!”
Mrs. Price put the stocking in her lap and opened her direct eyes on Spindler. “Never seen 'em?” she repeated. “Then, they're not near relations?”
“There are three cousins,” said Spindler, checking them off on his fingers, “a half-uncle, a kind of brother-in-law,—that is, the brother of my sister-in-law's second husband,—and a niece. That's six.”
“But if you've not seen them, I suppose they've corresponded with you?” said Mrs. Price.
“They've nearly all of 'em written to me for money, seeing my name in the paper ez hevin' made a strike,” returned Spindler simply; “and hevin' sent it, I jest know their addresses.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Price, returning to the stocking.
Something in the tone of her ejaculation increased Spindler's embarrassment, but it also made him desperate. “You see, Mrs. Price,” he blurted out, “I oughter tell ye that I reckon they are the folks that 'hevn't got on,' don't you see, and so it seemed only the square thing for me, ez had 'got on,' to give them a sort o' Christmas festival. Suthin', don't ye know, like what your brother-in-law was sayin' last Sunday in the pulpit about this yer peace and goodwill 'twixt man and man.”