perfect order. The fire shed flickering lights on the bright dish-covers
on the wall, and the blue and white china on the old-fashioned dresser
was touched with a ruddy glow. Mrs. Maxwell herself, seated in a wooden
rocking-chair, in spotless white apron, was knitting busily as she
talked; and Milly on a low stool, the tabby in her arms, with her
golden-brown curls in pretty disorder, and her large dark eyes gazing
earnestly into the fire, completed the picture.

"Do you like winter, Mrs. Maxwell?" she was asking.

"Well, my dear, I can't say as I don't prefer the summer; but
there!--the Almighty sends it, and it must be right, and I don't think
folks have a right to grumble and go rushing off to them foreign parts,
a-leaving their own country and the weather God gives them, because they
say they must have sunshine. I allays thinks they've no sunshine in
their hearts, or they wouldn't be so up and down with the weather."

"I think winter is a very lonely time, Mrs. Maxwell, and I'm so sorry
for the trees. I was out this morning with Fritz, and I talked to them
and tried to cheer them up. And I think they feel they're nearly dead,
poor things! and they were shivering with cold this morning; they were,
really. I told them they would be happy when next summer comes, but they
sighed and shook their heads; it's such a long time to wait, and they
have nothing to do--they can only stand still. I was very sad this
morning. After I had talked to them, I went down to the plantation at
the bottom of the lawn, and on the way I came to a poor dead frog. Fritz
sniffed at him, but he didn't seem to be sorry. I don't know how he
died. I thought perhaps he had stayed out in the cold and got frozen, he
felt so very cold. I took him up and buried him, and I wondered if his
mother would miss him; and then I went on a little farther, and there