"
She kissed her cousin's cheek.
"A merry Christmas, Aunt Thankful," she said.
Thankful returned the kiss. "Same to you, dearie, and many of 'em," she
replied. "Well, here's another Christmas day come to me. A year ago I
didn't think I'd be here. I wonder where I'll be next Christmas. Will
I have a home of my own or will what I've thought was my home belong to
Sol Cobb or Holliday Kendrick?"
"Hush, Auntie, hush! Your home won't be taken from you. It would be too
mean, too dreadful! God won't permit such a thing."
"I sartin' hope he won't, but it seems sometimes as if he permitted some
mighty mean things, 'cordin' to our way of lookin' at 'em. That light's
still burnin'," she added, peering out into the hall. "Well, I suppose I
ought to pity Solomon, but I don't when I think how he's treated me.
If the ghost--or whatever 'tis in there--weeded out the rest of his
whiskers for him I don't know's I'd care. 'Twould serve him right, I
guess."
They rehung Georgie's stocking--bulging and knobby it was now--and
arranged his more bulky presents beneath it on the floor. Then Thankful
went into the kitchen and Emily accompanied her. The morning broke,
pale and gray. The wind had subsided and it no longer rained. With the
returning daylight Emily's courage began to revive.
"I can't understand," she said, "how you and I could have been so
childish last night. We should have insisted on calling to Mr. Cobb and
then we should have found out what it was that frightened him and us.
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