while she struggled to adjust a circuitous alto to her father’s tenor.  On the hither side of the Popham house, and quite obscured by it, stood Letitia Boynton’s one-story gray cottage.  It had a clump of tall cedar trees for background and the bare branches of the elms in front were hung lightly with snow garlands.  As Mrs. Larrabee came closer, she set down her lantern and looked fixedly at the familiar house as if something new arrested her gaze.

“It looks like a little night-light!” she thought.  “And how queer of Letty to be sitting at the open window!”

Nearer still she crept, yet not so near as to startle her friend.  A tall brass candlestick, with a lighted tallow candle in it, stood on the table in the parlor window; but the room in which Letty sat was unlighted save by the fire on the hearth, which gleamed brightly behind the quaint andirons—­Hessian soldiers of iron, painted in gay colors.  Over the mantel hung the portrait of Letty’s mother, a benign figure clad in black silk, the handsome head topped by a snowy muslin cap with floating strings.  Just round the corner of the fireplace was a half-open door leading into a tiny bedroom, and the flickering flame lighted the heads of two sleeping children, arms interlocked, bright tangled curls flowing over one pillow.

Letty herself sat in a low chair by the open window wrapped in an old cape of ruddy brown homespun, from the folds of which her delicate head rose like a flower in a bouquet of autumn leaves.  One elbow rested on the table; her chin in the cup of her hand.  Her head was turned away a little so that one could see only the knot of bronze hair, the curve of a cheek, and the sweep of an eyelash.

“What a picture!” thought Reba.  “The very thing for my Christmas card!  It would do almost without a change, if only she is willing to let me use her.”

“Wake up, Letty!” she called.  “Come and let me in!—­Why, your front door isn’t closed!”

“The fire smoked a little when I first lighted it,” said Letty, rising when her friend entered, and then softly shutting the bedroom door that the children might not waken.  “The night is so mild and the room so warm, I couldn’t help opening the window to look at the moon on the snow.  Sit down, Reba!  How good of you to come when you’ve been rehearsing for the Christmas Tree exercises all the afternoon.”

[Illustration]

II

“It’s never ‘good’ of me to come to talk with you, Letty!” And the minister’s wife sank into a comfortable seat and took off her rigolette.  “Enough virtue has gone out of me to-day to Christianize an entire heathen nation!  Oh! how I wish Luther would go and preach to a tribe of cannibals somewhere, and make me superintendent of the Sabbath-School!  How I should like to deal, just for a change, with some simple problem like the undesirability and indigestibility involved in devouring