Susan.—Abner! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself! Seventy-eighth birthday!
Edith.—We really must apologize for coming in this—er—this—what IS the word I want?
Tom.—Nervy.
Edith.—No, indeed. I mean unceremonious. That’s it. This unceremonious fashion. We are passengers on the Limited, and it is stalled in the snow half a mile below here.
Tom.—We’ve been late the last six hours, for the train before was behind, and we were behind before besides.
Edith.—We hated to spend Christmas eve in a snow bank, half frozen, and the conductor said it would be at least two hours before the plows could reach us.
Tom.—So, when we saw the lights of your farm-house, we invited ourselves, and we hope you will accept the invitation.
Susan.—Well, this is a surprise party, an’ I am plumb pleased to see you folks, for I wuz lonesome here by myself. I wouldn’t want nobody a-celebratin’ Christmas eve in a snow bank. I thought I heard that train a-whistlin’ there awhile ago, an’ yet I didn’t hear it go past; they’re company for me, them trains, though I fought considerable agin the track crossing my land. Their fust plan was to have the tracks run right through my barn, and I set my foot on that. No, sir, says I. I ain’t goin’ to get up all hours of the night at my age, to open the barn doors to let them trains through, an’ shut ’em after they pass. I guess that made them railroad men change their plans. Abner, take the folks’ coats an’ hats. Sit down all of you an’ get thawed out.
Miss Prudence.—Be careful of that hat, young man. I’ve worn it six years. (Removes hat and hands it to him.)