SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.
God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.
One soweth and another reapeth.
Jesus saith unto him, Go thy way, thy son liveth.
Wilt thou be made whole?
Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life.
IN came the children, one evening when they were to have a story, and Rollo laid the verses in Grandma Burton's lap. The room looked very pretty that evening. There was a bright coal fire burning in the grate, which lighted everything beautifully, and Grandma herself was the prettiest object in it. So the children thought, anyway.
"Yes," she said, "I know a story about that last one. It happened a great many years ago, as the most of my stories do. Are you all ready?"
The hassock and chairs were by this time fixed in their accustomed places, and the silence kept by all the children showed that they were ready for the story, without Harold's announcement to that effect. So Grandma began:
"It was one day in November, just before Thanksgiving, when I was about twelve years old, that my brother Fred and I received a note from a lady who lived out in the country a mile or two, which said that she wanted us to come and spend Thanksgiving with her. We were both very fond of Mrs. Watson, and were delighted when father said we might go.
"So that afternoon he harnessed Old Gray to the sleigh, and took us around to Mrs. Watson's. It was quite cold, I remember, and father said he guessed there would be a big snowstorm in the night. The house we were going to was a little low one, that was old-fashioned even then, and with only one story.
"Mrs. Watson came to the gate to meet us, and showed us into her warm kitchen, while father said good-by, and hurried home. We had some nice fresh milk and bread for supper, and went to bed early. I was very tired, and didn't waken till I heard the big clock strike six, so I hurried up, and dressed very fast, all the time wondering what made the room so dark. I couldn't see out of doors, because of the curtain at the little window.
"When I came into the other room, I saw my brother up on a chair at the window, looking over what seemed to be a white sheet tacked to it, and Mrs. Watson watching him. 'You can't see anything but snow,' he said presently, 'for the little hill hides the road.' 'Why, what is the matter?' I asked, surprising them so that Fred nearly fell off his chair. And how frightened I was when I found the snow had drifted against the house, so that we could neither see out of the windows, nor get out of the door!
"My!" said Sarah. "Why, we never see so much snow as that here, Grandma."