[Illustration]

VII


Repeating history, Letty was again at her open window. She had been
half-ashamed to reproduce the card, as it were, but something impelled
her. She was safe from scrutiny, too, for everybody had gone to the
tree--the Pophams, Mr. Davis, Clarissa Perry, everybody for a quarter
of a mile up and down the street, and by now the company would be
gathered and the tree lighted. She could keep watch alone, the only
sound being that of the children's soft breathing in the next room.

Letty had longed to go to the festival herself, but old Clarissa
Perry, who cared for the twins now and then in Letty's few absences,
had a niece who was going to "speak a piece," and she yearned to be
present and share in the glory; so Letty was kept at home as she had
been numberless other times during the three years of her vicarious
motherhood.

The night was mild again, as in the year before. The snow lay like
white powder on the hard earth; the moon was full, and the street was
a length of dazzling silence. The lighted candle was in the parlor
window, shining toward the meeting-house, the fire burned brightly on
the hearth, the front door was ajar. Letty wrapped her old cape round
her shoulders, drew her hood over her head, and seating herself at
the window repeated under her breath:--