“What’s going on here!” said Winthrop, catching her up in his arms as he came in.

Winifred laughed and kissed him, and then with an earnest slap of her little hand on his cheek requested to be set down, that she might see, “if that side wasn’t done.”

“Yes, to be sure it’s done,” said Asahel.  “Where’s mamma to turn it?”

“Here,” said Winthrop, taking up the barrel cover, —­ “do you think nobody can turn a cake but mamma?”

“You can’t,” said Asahel, —­ “you’ll let it fall in the ashes, —­ you will! —­”

But the slice of half baked dough was cleverly and neatly slipped off the board and happily put in its place again with the right side out; and little Winifred, who had watched the operation anxiously, said with a breath of satisfaction and in her slow utterance,

“There —­ Governor can do anything!”

There were several cakes to take the benefit of the fire, one after the other, and then to be split and buttered, and then to be eaten; and cakes of Winthrop’s baking and mamma’s buttering, the children pronounced “as good as could be.”  Nothing could have better broken up the gloom of their little tea party than Winthrop’s hoe-cakes; and then the tea was so good, for nobody had eaten much dinner.

The children were in excellent spirits, and Winthrop kept them in play; and the conversation went on between the three for a large part of the evening.  When the little ones were gone to bed, then indeed it flagged; Winthrop and his mother sat awhile silently musing, and then the former bade her good night.

It was long before Mrs. Landholm thought of going to bed, or thought of anything around her; the fire was dead and her candle burnt out, when at length she roused herself.  The cold wind made itself felt through many a crevice in the wooden frame house; and feeling too much of its work upon her, she went into the kitchen to see if there were not some warmth still lingering about the covered-up fire.  To her surprise, the fire was not covered up; a glow came from it yet; and Winthrop sat there on the hearth, with his head leaning against the jamb and his eyes intently studying the coals.  He started, and jumped up.

“Winthrop! —­what are you here for, my dear?”

“I came out to warm myself.”

“Haven’t you been to bed?”

“No ma’am.”

“Where have you been?”

“Only in my room, mother.”

“Doing what, my son?”

“Thinking —­” he said a little unwillingly.

“Sit down and warm yourself,” said his mother placing his chair again; —­ “Why, your hands are warm now?”

“Yes ma’am —­ I have been here a good while.”

He sat down, where she had put his chair in front of the fireplace; and she stood warming herself before it, and looking at him.  His face was in its usual calmness, and she thought as she looked it was an excellent face.  Great strength of character —­ great truth —­ beneath the broad brow high intellectual capacity, and about the mouth a certain sweet self-possession; to the ordinary observer more cool than sweet, but his mother knew the sweetness.