It was now dark. We were the under half of the world. The sun was
scorching and glowing on the other side, leaving us to night and
frost. But the night and the frost wake the sunshine of a higher world
in our hearts; and who cares for winter weather at Christmas?--I
believe in the proximate correctness of the date of our Saviour's
birth. I believe he always comes in winter. And then let Winter reign
without: Love is king within; and Love is lord of the Winter.

How the happy fires were glowing everywhere! We shot past many a
lighted cottage, and now and then a brilliant mansion. Inside both
were hearts like our own, and faces like ours, with the red coming out
on them, the red of joy, because it was Christmas. And most of them
had some little feast _toward_. Is it vulgar, this feasting at
Christmas? No. It is the Christmas feast that justifies all feasts, as
the bread and wine of the Communion are the essence of all bread and
wine, of all strength and rejoicing. If the Christianity of eating is
lost--I will not say _forgotten_--the true type of eating is to be
found at the dinner-hour in the Zoological Gardens. Certain I am, that
but for the love which, ever revealing itself, came out brightest at
that first Christmas time, there would be no feasting--nay no smiling;
no world to go careering in joy about its central fire; no men and
women upon it, to look up and rejoice.

"But you always look on the bright side of things."

No one spoke aloud; I heard the objection in my mind. Could it come
from the mind of my friend--for so I already counted him--opposite to
me? There was no need for that supposition--I had heard the objection
too often in my ears. And now I answered it in set, though unspoken