Pets were scarce on the prairie, and the girls were delighted.  Nothing papa could have brought them would have given them so much happiness.

They thought no more of the dinner, but hurried to dress themselves and feed the birds, which were quite tame from hunger and weariness.  But after a while they saw preparations for dinner, too.  Mamma made a crust and lined a deep dish—­the chicken pie dish—­and then she brought a mysterious something out of the cupboard, all cut up so that it looked as if it might be chicken, and put it in the dish with other things, and then she tucked them all under a thick crust, and set it down in a tin oven before the fire to bake.  And that was not all.  She got out some more cornmeal, and made a batter, and put in some sugar and something else which she slipped in from a bowl, and which looked in the batter something like raisins; and at the last moment Willie brought her a cup of snow and she hastily beat it into the cake, or pudding, whichever you might call it, while the children laughed at the idea of making a cake out of snow.  This went into the same oven and pretty soon it rose up light and showed a beautiful brown crust, while the pie was steaming through little fork holes on top, and sending out most delicious odours.

At the last minute, when the table was set and everything ready to come up, Willie ran up to look out of the scuttle, as he had every hour of daylight since they were buried.  In a moment came a wild shout down the ladder.

“They’re coming!  Hurrah for old Tim!”

Mamma rushed up and looked out, and saw—­to be sure—­old Tim slowly coming along over the crust, drawing after him a wood sled on which were two men.

“It’s papa!” shouted Willie, waving his arms to attract their attention.

“Willie!” came back over the snow in tones of agony.  “Is that you?  Are all well?”

“All well!” shouted Willie, “and just going to have our Christmas dinner.”

“Dinner?” echoed papa, who was now nearer.

“Where is the house, then?”

“Oh, down here!” said Willie, “under the snow; but we’re all right, only we mustn’t let the plum-pudding spoil.”

Looking into the attic, Willie found that mamma had fainted away, and this news brought to her aid papa and the other man, who proved to be a good friend who had come to help.

Tim was tied to the chimney, whose thread of smoke had guided them home, and all went down into the dark room.  Mrs. Barnes soon recovered, and while Willie dished up the smoking dinner, stories were told on both sides.

Mr. Barnes had been trying to get through the snow and to find them all the time, but until the last night had made a stiff crust he had been unable to do so.  Then Mrs. Barnes told her story, winding up with the account of Willie’s Christmas dinner.  “And if it hadn’t been for his keeping up our hearts I don’t know what would have become of us,” she said at last.