IT was the day before Thanksgiving. Cold weather had come on early. The ground had been frozen solid for several days, and the country roads were “smooth as glass”; so Grandpa Kirke said when he came home from the post-office Tuesday afternoon. “But I shouldn’t wonder if we were to have snow before morning,” he added. And at this the little granddaughter Lucy L. clapped her hands gleefully. The boy Whittier said nothing, but presently a noise was heard up in the wood-house chamber, and Mrs. Kirke said in a startled tone, “What’s that?”
Grandpa stepped to the door and called, “Whittier!”
“GRANDMA KIRKE MIGHT GIVE YOU A BREAKFAST.”
“Sir?” responded the boy quickly.
“Oh! you are there.”
“Coming in a minute; do you want anything?” said Whittier, and in less than a minute the boy appeared below stairs with his sled. “Looks pretty well to start on a second winter with!” he said, as he dusted and examined the treasure. “Say, Lucy Larcom, how will you like to ride to school on the Flyaway to-morrow morning?”
Grandma laughed, and said, “You seem to be counting on snow, for sure.”
“But you know grandpa said maybe it would snow, and when grandpa says maybe, it most always comes so,” said Lucy.