Suddenly Kate lay down on the bed, buried her face in the pillow while her shoulders jerked and shook in dry sobs for a long time.  At last she arose, went to the kitchen, bathed her face, and banked the fires.  “I suppose it is the Bates way,” she said, “but it’s a cold, hard proposition.  I know what’s the matter with all of them.  They are afraid to come near me, or show the slightest friendliness, for fear I’ll ask them to help support us.  They needn’t worry, we can take care of ourselves.”

She set her tree on the living room table, arranged everything to the best advantage, laid a fire in the stove, and went to sleep Christmas eve, feeling more like herself than she had since the explosion.  Christmas morning she had the house warm and the tree ready to light while the children dressed.  She slipped away their every-day clothing and laid out their best instead.  She could hear them talking as they dressed, and knew the change of clothing had filled them with hope.  She hastily lighted the tree, and was setting the table as they entered the dining room.

“Merry Christmas, little people,” she cried in a voice they had not heard in a long time.  They both rushed to her and Kate’s heart stood still as they each hugged her tight, kissed her, and offered a tiny packet.  From the size and feeling of these, she realized that they were giving her the candy they had received the day before at school.  Surprises were coming thick and fast with Kate.  That one shook her to her foundations.  They loved candy.  They had so little!  They had nothing else to give.  She held them an instant so tightly they were surprised at her, then she told them to lay the packages on the living room table until after breakfast.  Polly opened the door, and screamed.  Adam ran, and then both of them stood silently before the brave little tree, flaming red, touched with white, its gold star shining.  They looked at it, and then at each other, while Kate, watching at an angle across the dining room, distinctly heard Polly say in an awed tone:  “Adam, hadn’t we better pray?”

Kate lifted herself full height, and drew a deep breath.  “Well, I guess I manage a little Christmas after this,” she said, “and maybe a Fourth of July, and a birthday, and a few other things.  I needn’t be such a coward.  I believe I can make it.”

From that hour she began trying to think of something she could do that would bring returns more nearly commensurate with the time and strength she was spending.  She felt tied to Walden because she owned the house, and could rely on working on shares with Aunt Ollie for winter food; but there was nothing she could do there and take care of the children that would bring more than the most meagre living.  Still they were living, each year more comfortably; the children were growing bigger and stronger; soon they could help at something, if only she could think what.  The time flew, each day a repetition of yesterday’s