Dad bled the beast, but it was late before he had it skinned and dressed.
When the carcase was hoisted to the gallows--and it seemed gruesome enough
as it hung there in the pallid light of the moon, with the night birds
dismally wailing like mourners from the lonely trees--we went home and
had supper.
Christmas Eve. Mother and Sal had just finished papering the walls, and
we were busy decorating the place with green boughs, when Sandy and Kate,
in their best clothes--Kate seated behind a well-filled pillow-slip
strapped on the front of her saddle; Sandy with the baby in front of
him--came jogging along the lane. There was commotion! Everything was
thrown aside to receive them. They were surrounded at the slip-rails,
and when they got down--talk about kissing! Dad was the only one who
escaped. When the hugging commenced he poked his head under the flap of
Kate's saddle and commenced unbuckling the girth. Dad had been at such
receptions before. But Sandy took it all meekly. And the baby! (the
dear little thing) they scrimmaged about it, and mugged it, and fought for
possession of it until Sandy became alarmed and asked them to "Mind!"
Inside they sat and drank tea and talked about things that had happened
and things that had n't happened.
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