tell them. It's my secret, and yours," he added generously. "Oh! if we
might only go and look at it."

"It's winter," observed the old gentleman, and stepping to the window he
put aside the draperies, to peer out into the black evening. "Yes, it
really is winter," he added with a shiver, to the boy who was close
behind, and as if no longer in doubt about it, he added most
emphatically, "it really is winter, Joel."

"Well, but you never saw anything like it, how magnificent winter is in
Badgertown," cried Joel in an excited whisper. "Such hills to coast
down; the snow is always crisp there, sir, not like this dirty town mud.
And the air is as dry as punk," he added artfully. "Oh! 'twould be such
a lark;" he actually clasped his hands.

"Badgertown isn't so very far off," said Mr. King thoughtfully, "I'll
think about it and see if we can manage it."

"Ugh-ow!" squealed Joel, utterly forgetful of his caution of secrecy,
"we can, we can; we can open the little brown house, and build great
fires there, and"--But he got no further. Into the midst of Van's
liveliest sally, came the words "little brown house," bringing all the
young people to their feet, Phronsie running to the old gentleman's
side, with, "What is it, Grandpapa? He said the little brown house."

"Get away!" cried Joel crossly to the besiegers, each and all wildly
clamoring. "What is it? What are you talking about? It's my secret," he
cried, "and his," pointing with a dismayed finger to Mr. King.

"Well, it isn't a secret any longer," cried Polly, flushing with