"
"Haw! haw! haw!" laughed big-voiced, big-hearted James. "The idea
of our little witch of an Elsie being a minister's wife!"
* * * * * * *
It is again Thanksgiving Eve. The trees are gaunt, the fields bare
and brown, with dead leaves whirling across them; but a sweeter
than June sunshine seems filling the cosey parlor where Elsie, a
radiant bride, is receiving her husband's first kiss almost on the
moment that she with her lips so unexpectedly kindled the sacred
fire, three years before.
SUSIE ROLLIFFE'S CHRISTMAS
Picnicking in December would be a dreary experience even if one
could command all the appliances of comfort which outdoor life
permitted. This would be especially true in the latitude of Boston
and on the bleak hills overlooking that city and its environing
waters. Dreary business indeed Ezekiel Watkins regarded it as he
shivered over the smoky camp-fire which he maintained with
difficulty. The sun was sinking into the southwest so early in the
day that he remarked irritably: "Durned if it was worth while for
it to rise at all.
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