“The sun may warm the grass to life,
The dew the drooping flower;
And eyes grow bright and watch the light
Of autumn’s opening hour;
But words that breathe of tenderness
And smiles we know are true
Are warmer than the summertime
And brighter than the dew.
“It is not much the world can give
With all its subtle art;
And gold and gems are not the things
To satisfy the heart;
But Oh, if those who cluster round
The altar and the hearth,
Have gentle words and loving smiles,
How beautiful the earth!”
Through the music, Mary cried out, “What’s that?”
“What, Mary?” Pa asked.
“I thought I heard—Listen!” Mary said.
They listened. The lamp made a tiny purring sound, and the coals softly settled a little in the stove. Past the little space above the white frost on the windows, falling snowflakes twinkled in the lamplight shining through the glass.
“What did you think you heard, Mary?” Pa asked. “It sounded like—There it is again!”
This time they all heard a shout. Out in the night, in the storm, a man shouted. And shouted again, quite near the house.
Ma started up. “Charles! Who on earth?”
Chapter 20
The Night before Christmas
Pa laid the fiddle in its box, and opened the front door quickly. Snow and cold swirled in, and again a husky shout. “Hullo-o-o, Ingalls!”
“It’s Boast!” Pa cried. “Come in! Come in!” He snatched his coat and cap, jerked them on and went out into the cold.
“He must be nearly frozen!” Ma exclaimed, and she hurried to put more coal on the fire. From outside came voices and Mr. Boast’s laugh.
Then the door opened and Pa called, “Here’s Mrs. Boast, Caroline. We’re going to put up the horses.”
Mrs. Boast was a great bundle of coats and blankets.