The women and the big girls rolled up their sleeves and went to work with Aunt Deel preparing the dinner.  The great turkey and the chicken pie were made ready and put in the oven and the potatoes and the onions and the winter squash were soon boiling in their pots on the stove-top.  Meanwhile the children were playing in my aunt’s bedroom and Uncle Hiram and Uncle Jabez were pulling sticks in a corner while the other men sat tipped against the wall watching and making playful comments—­all save my Uncle Peabody, who was trying to touch his head to the floor and then straighten up with the aid of the broomstick.

By and by I sat on top of the wood with which I had just filled the big wood-box and very conscious of the shining chain on my breast.  Suddenly the giant, Rodney Barnes, jumped out of his chair and, embracing the wood-box, lifted it and the wood and me in his great arms and danced lightly around a group of the ladies with his burden and set it down in its place again very gently.  What a hero he became in my eyes after that!

“If ye should go off some day an’ come back an’ find yer house missin’ ye may know that Rodney Barnes has been here,” said Uncle Hiram.  “A man as stout as Rodney is about as dangerous as a fire.”

Then what Falstaffian peals of laughter!

In the midst of it Aunt Deel opened the front door and old Kate, the Silent Woman, entered.  To my surprise, she wore a decent-looking dress of gray homespun cloth and a white cloud looped over her head and ears and tied around her neck and a good pair of boots.

“Merry Chris’mas!” we all shouted.

She smiled and nodded her head and sat down in the chair which Uncle Peabody had placed for her at the stove side.  Aunt Deel took the cloud off her head while Kate drew her mittens—­newly knitted of the best yarn.  Then my aunt brought some stockings and a shawl from the tree and laid them on the lap of old Kate.  What a silence fell upon us as we saw tears coursing down the cheeks of this lonely old woman of the countryside!—­tears of joy, doubtless, for God knows how long it had been since the poor, abandoned soul had seen a merry Christmas and shared its kindness.  I did not fail to observe how clean her face and hands looked!  She was greatly changed.

She took my hand as I went to her side and tenderly caressed it.  A gentler smile came to her face than ever I had seen upon it.  The old stern look returned for a moment as she held one finger aloft in a gesture which only I and my Aunt Deel understood.  We knew it signalized a peril and a mystery.  That I should have to meet it, somewhere up the hidden pathway, I had no doubt whatever.

“Dinner’s ready!” exclaimed the cheerful voice of Aunt Deel.

Then what a stirring of chairs and feet as we sat down at the table.  Old Kate sat by the side of my aunt and we were all surprised at her good manners.

Uncle Jabez—­a member of the white church—­prayed for a moment as we sat with bowed heads.  I have never forgotten his simple eloquence as he prayed for the poor and for him who was sitting in the shadow of death (I knew that he referred to Amos Grimshaw and whispered amen) and for our forgiveness.