Chapter 43
The north country lay buried in the snow that Christmastime. Here and there the steam plough had thrown its furrows, on either side of the railroad, high above the window line. The fences were muffled in long ridges of snow, their stakes showing like pins in a cushion of white velvet. Some of the small trees on the edge of the big timber stood overdrifted to their boughs. I have never seen such a glory of the morning as when the sun came up, that day we were nearing home, and lit the splendour of the hills, there in the land I love. The frosty nap of the snow glowed far and near with pulsing glints of pale sapphire.
We came into Hillsborough at noon the day before Christmas. Father and Uncle Eb met us at the depot and mother stood waving her handkerchief at the door as we drove up. And when we were done with our greetings and were standing, damp eyed, to warm ourselves at the fire, Uncle Eb brought his palms together with a loud whack and said:
'Look here, Lizbeth Brower! I want to hev ye tell me if ye ever see a likelier pair o' colts.
She laughed as she looked at us. In a moment she ran her hand down the side of Hope's gown. Then she lifted a fold of the cloth and felt of it thoughtfully.
'How much was that a yard?' she asked a dreamy look in her eyes. 'Wy! w'y!' she continued as Hope told her the sum. 'Terrible steep! but it does fit splendid! Oughter wear well too! Wish ye'd put that on if ye go t' church nex' Sunday.
'O mother!' said Hope, laughing, 'I'll wear my blue silk.
'Come boys 'n girls,' said Elizabeth suddenly, 'dinner's all ready in the other room.
'Beats the world!' said Uncle Eb, as we sat down at the table. 'Ye do look gran' to me—ree-markable gran', both uv ye. Tek a premium at any fair—ye would sartin.'
'Has he won yer affections?' said David laughing as he looked over at Hope.