"Now, Amy," said Burtis, laughing, "you see what sort of a fellow Webb
is. You cannot even sneeze without his considering the wherefore back to
the remotest cause."

"Are you afraid of me, Amy?" asked Webb.

"No," was the quiet reply.

Amy spent the greater part of the day in unpacking her trunks, and in
getting settled in her home-like room. It soon began to take on a familiar
air. Hearts, like plants, strike root rapidly when the conditions are
favorable. Johnnie was her delighted assistant much of the time, and this
Christmas-day was one long thrill of excitement to the child. Her wonder
grew and grew, for there was a foreign air about many of Amy's things, and,
having been brought from such a long distance, they seemed to belong to
another world. The severe cold continued, and only the irrepressible Burtis
ventured out to any extent. When Alf's excitement over his presents began
to flag, Webb helped him make two box-traps, and the boy concealed them in
the copse where the rabbit-tracks were thickest. Only the biting frost kept
him, in his intense eagerness, from remaining out to see the result. Webb,
however, taught him patience by assuring him that watched traps never
caught game.

Beyond the natural home festivities the day passed quietly, and this was
also true of the entire holiday season. Cheerfulness, happiness abounded,
and there was an unobtrusive effort on the part of every one to surround
the orphan girl with a genial, sunny atmosphere. And yet she was ever
made to feel that her sorrow was remembered and respected. She saw that
Mr. Clifford's mind was often busy with the memory of his friend, that