52 NEW HAMPSHIRE 



claim your soul. But finally the man himself 

 speaks. You are relieved to know he can. He 

 is addressing you. The minute hand is at twelve 

 and the clock strikes. " These are yours ? " he 

 asks. You reply in the affirmative, as best you 

 are able. " For Bethlehem ? " he asks, and you 

 answer " Yes." And then, after one more set of 

 machine-like motions, the mighty work is accom- 

 plished. The checks are yours. Fortunately, the 

 train has not yet pulled away, though it is past 

 the time, and at the last moment you see the 

 trunks on board. 



Trifles like these would have been as nothing, of 

 course, to ordinary travelers ; but to us, innocent 

 Carthusians, fresh from the unearthly quiet of a 

 mountain-top, they were little short of tragical. 

 And how intolerably hot and close the car was ! 

 Things were growing worse and worse with us. 

 Should we live to reach Bethlehem, with nothing 

 but this blast out of Nebuchadnezzar's furnace 

 in our nostrils? Why had we not remained 

 where existence was not a struggle, but a dream 

 of pleasure ; where the air had not to be gasped 

 for, but came of itself to be sweetly inhaled? 

 Nevertheless, we survived the passage, the con- 

 ductor helping to pass the time by stopping in 

 the aisle to make inquiries touching a little flock 

 of puzzling birds, crossbills, perhaps, lately seen 



