“No,” said Thomas and Eliza together.
“I guess she was very busy,” said gran’pap, with a frown. Then face and voice brightened. “But this year I’m on hand to cut the tree and I’m on hand to trim the tree.”
The children looked up at him. It was clear that they had not entire faith in gran’pap’s powers.
“And presents,” continued gran’pap. “If you could have your choice of presents, what would you like to have?”
“I would like a gun,” said Thomas.
“I would like—” Little Eliza gave a long, long sigh—“I would like a locket. I saw one in a picture.”
“I do not know what you will get,” said the old man, “but you will get something.”
Then gran’pap hurried his own steps and theirs.
“She’ll be lookin’ for us, children. Mooley’s to be milked and wood’s to be fetched.”
Further progress was swift, for the road descended sharply. Under the shelter of a small cliff-like elevation stood the little house, startlingly white in the thickening darkness. It was a lonely place, entirely out of sight of other houses. Though it was protected from the coldest of the winter winds, it was not out of reach of their mournful sound.