“There was one of those winters in Cambridge, where I lived then, that seemed tougher than any other we could remember, and they were all pretty tough winters there in those times.  There were forty snowfalls between Thanksgiving and Fast Day—­you don’t know what Fast Day is in New York, and we didn’t, either, as far as the fasting went—­and the cold kept on and on till we couldn’t, or said we couldn’t, stand it any longer.  So, along about the middle of March somewhere, we picked up the children and started south.  In those days New York seemed pretty far south to us; and when we got here we found everything on wheels that we had left on runners in Boston.  But the next day it began to snow, and we said we must go a little farther to meet the spring.  I don’t know exactly what it was made us pitch on Bethlehem, Pennsylvania; but we had a notion we should find it interesting, and, at any rate, a total change from our old environment.  We had been reading something about the Moravians, and we knew that it was the capital of Moravianism, with the largest Moravian congregation in the world; I think it was Longfellow’s ‘Hymn of the Moravian Nuns’ that set us to reading about the sect; and we had somehow heard that the Sun Inn, at Bethlehem, was the finest old-fashioned public house anywhere.  At any rate, we had the faith of our youthful years, and we put out for Bethlehem.

“We arrived just at dusk, but not so late that we couldn’t see the hospitable figure of a man coming out of the Sun to meet us at the omnibus door and to shake hands with each of us.  It was the very pleasantest and sweetest welcome we ever had at a public house; and though we found the Sun a large, modern hotel, we easily accepted the landlord’s assurance that the old Inn was built up inside of the hotel, just as it was when Washington stayed in it; and after a mighty good supper we went to our rooms, which were piping warm from two good base-burner stoves.  It was not exactly the vernal air we had expected of Bethlehem when we left New York; but you can’t have everything in this world, and, with the snowbanks along the streets outside, we were very glad to have the base-burners.

“We went to bed pretty early, and I fell into one of those exemplary sleeps that begin with no margin of waking after your head touches the pillow, or before that, even, and I woke from a dream of heavenly music that translated itself into the earthly notes of bugles.  It made me sit up with the instant realization that we had arrived in Bethlehem on Easter Eve, and that this was Easter Morning.  We had read of the beautiful observance of the feast by the Moravians, and, while I was hurrying on my clothes beside my faithful base-burner, I kept quite superfluously wondering at myself for not having thought of it, and so made sure of being called.  I had waked just in time, though I hadn’t deserved to do so, and ought, by right, to have missed it all.  I tried to make my wife come with me;