Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1896-01-17

tracks. He coaXed and shouted and even
applied the lash. But to no purpose. The
wagon was fast in the snow.
Richards glanced at its contents. The
childfen's toys-these he must try to keep.
They would feel so badly should the good
Christmas saint again pass them by. He
buttoned the doll beneath his great coat,
and shouldered the rocking-horse. He
would attempt to work his way homeward,
and pray God for strength and guidance.
With pocket-knife he cut the traces,
and loo.e ed the horses hoping that the in
stinct of the beasts might guide them
Alright and that he might follow. But
they stood duly in the snow and looked in
mute appeal to him. Their helplesness
alarmed him intensely; they were so com
pletely confused, so wholly lost. Where
instinct had failed, could he do more than
blindly grope about in that internal black
ness, where the raging wind and the whirl-
ing snow made it hard to even breathe, un-
til he should fall dead in his tracks-and
on Christmas evep But act, act he must.
He floundered forward through the snow;
the horses followed. Thoughts of wife and
children kept the weary muscles at work.
The notion gradually grew upon him that
he must be getting near home, and he
watched eagerly for the CLEAN of friendly
light. Then he stood still, dumb with dis
appointment and despair. He had done
what thoroughly lost men always do; he
had doubled on himself That irregular
mass yonder surely was the wagon. Again
he set out, and in different direction,
Saxon grit holding him up to his work. He
would be game to the last. Thus for sew
eral hours John Richards battled with his
gigantic foe, the storm, his horses stagger-
ing after him like dogs.
But the final moment came. He could
not move another step. The battle had
been fought and lost and with his hands
still clutching the gift for his children he
sank down in the snow, and prepared TO
die as a man does.
With a consuming dread in her heart,
the mother had watched and waited.
Tell her ! will be home by siX"-that
was the message, and it supported her
through the afternoon. She spoke cheer
fully TO the children, and assured them
that their father would soon come.
"When mammal asked Ned, and she
said: CAT six o'clock" She renewed the
| logs in the fireplace; she arranged some
thing nice and hot for supper; she got the
made them eat. And all with fearful
| glances into the storm.
The cheap wooden clock struck six
smartly.
"Its SIX o'clock, mamma, said Ned,
land papa isn't here. You said he'd be"
The mother turned away and caught her
breath. "Papa, he's telling Santa Claus
piped little Alice, and the babies laughed
and thought no more of their fathers alb
scence. "Now, hang up your stockings
they cried, as they clambered down from
their high chairs, and with quivering lips
the mother fastened them near the chin
ney.
Now, your prayers, and then to bed, "
she said, and the children knelt and prayed.
"Papa'll be here in the morning, wont hep
asked Ned, and she answered, "Yes, my
darling" in voice that she did not know.
A moment and they were fast asleep.
THANK God they don't know" the
mother whispered, and took up her agony
anew. Mechanically she cleared away the
tea things and did some work about The
house. Then she opened the door by main
strength and listened, but only to the boot
ing of the gale and the hiss of the writing
snow. Here husband must be out there in
the storm There was no house, no place
of refuge, between their home and the vii
lage. Williams had reported him as on his
way. He must soon come, or-or-
She sewed desperately for awhile, and
tried to think that it would be all right.
So the minutes crept by, and at last the
clock struck nine. The sound aroused her
agony to new life. She must do some
thing. She went upstairs and looked at
her sleeping babies, smiling in blessed in
nocence She peered out of one corner OF
a window-pane which blind had protect
ed from the snow. What could she do?
Pray? But she had done nothing else for
five hours.
Then she suddenly recalled a custom OF
her mothers, custom once common
among New England Puritans, and with
some still common, of opening the Bible
at haphazard for guidance and instruction
when in perpleXity and distress. 1t could
do no harm; it would be something for
her to do, at any rate.
The woman hurried downstairs and took
from her work basket a well-worn Bible.
With trembling hands and half-articulate
prayer, she opened the sacred book, and
looked at its page with tear-dimmed eyes.
"And the Lord went before them by day
in pillar of cloud, and by night in pillar
of fire."
The words danced before her as though
alive. What significance could there be in
that for her? Was it not mere mockery,
mere chance after all? Then the woman
stood still, and hesitated moment "He
cannot, cannot be very far away-if he is
still alive" she whispered. 81 must do it,
and l will. That's what it means"
With hands that no longer trembled, she
put on heavy wraps and stout boots. Next
she tied two clothes-lines together and
stepped out into the storm. One end OF
the line she made fast to the door-tht
house would be out of sight in a moment
and she must secure her return-then
forced her way through the snow out into
the night.
Past the barn she went, and at last, with
a desperate effort, she found herself be-
meath the huge hayrick. With u strength
born of love, hope and despair, she tore
away the snow and ice, and her bleeding
fingers touched the dry hay within. Hast,
lily she drew a box of matches from hel
pocket, and struck one. 1t fickered, then
burned up brightly. She touched it to the
hay. For single instant the flame wav.
cred uncertainty. But the north wind
caught it; sent ii in mad fury into the
heart of the great stack, and the fire
flashed out its blazing defiance at the night
and the storm.
The great pile burned with matchless fe-
rocity. Huge spires of flame leaped high
in the air, and tore mighty gaps in the cur
tain of darkness with their Ted-hot hands
a great pillar of fire shot heaVenward, and
the rudy glow illumined the landscape far
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