Crittenden

God was good that Christmas--good to the nation, for He brought to it

victory and peace, and made it one and indivisible in feeling, as it

already was in fact; good to the State, for it had sprung loyally to the

defence of the country, and had won all the honour that was in the

effort to be won, and man nor soldier can do more; good to the mother,

for the whole land rang with praises of her sons, and her own people

swore that to one should be given once more the seat of his fathers in

the capitol; but best to her when the bishop came to ordain, and, on

his knees at the chancel and waiting for the good old man's hands, was

the best beloved of her children and her first-born--Clay Crittenden. To

her a divine purpose seemed apparent, to bring her back the best of the

old past and all she prayed for the future.

As Christmas day drew near, gray clouds marshalled and loosed white

messengers of peace and good-will to the frozen earth until the land was

robed in a thick, soft, shining mantle of pure white--the first

spiritualization of the earth for the birth of spring. It was the

mother's wish that her two sons should marry on the same day and on that

day, and Judith and Phyllis yielded. So early that afternoon, she saw

together Judith, as pure and radiant as a snow-hung willow in the

sunshine, and her son, with the light in his face for which she had

prayed so many years--saw them standing together and clasp hands

forever. They took a short wedding trip, and that straight across the

crystal fields, where little Phyllis stood with Basil in

uniform--straight and tall and with new lines, too, but deepened merely,

about his handsome mouth and chin--waiting to have their lives made one.

And, meanwhile, Bob and Molly too were making ready; for if there be a

better hot-bed of sentiment than the mood of man and woman when the man

is going to war it is the mood of man and woman when the man has come

home from war; and with cries and grunts and great laughter and singing,

the negroes were pulling the yule-log from its long bath and across the

snowy fields; and when, at dusk, the mother brought her two sons and her

two daughters and the Pages and Stantons to her own roof, the big log,

hidden by sticks of pine and hickory, was sputtering Christmas cheer

with a blaze and crackle that warmed body and heart and home. That night

the friends came from afar and near; and that night Bob, the faithful,

valiant Bob, in a dress-suit that was his own and new, and Mrs.

Crittenden's own gift, led the saucy Molly, robed as no other dusky

bride at Canewood was ever arrayed, into the dining-room, while the

servants crowded the doors and hallway and the white folk climbed the

stairs to give them room. And after a few solemn moments, Bob caught the

girl in his arms and smacked her lips loudly: