IV 



WE kept Christmas in our blessed farmhouse 

 at Happy Hollow, before our great stone fire- 

 place that was banked high, from hearth to 

 throat, with a roaring blaze of huge logs from 

 our woodlot. It needed the strength of two 

 men to carry in the backlog. I had helped to 

 cut those logs, working with crosscut saw and 

 heavy ax in the woods; I had helped to load 

 them on the woodrack and haul them down to 

 the house over the rough, stony road. Every 

 stone in the massive front of the fireplace Laura 

 herself had found for the hands of the builders, 

 tramping over the hills, choosing them care- 

 fully. The finished work was very beautiful 

 in its rich, soft grays and browns and reds and 

 in its appearance of fine, solid strength. 

 What's more, it was ours, achieved at last after 

 eighteen years of waiting. When I'm an old 

 man, by and by, and sit basking in the warmth 

 of that hearth, brooding, I'll remember the 

 fierce exultation that thrilled me as I knelt and 



73 



