“No, it’s all right,” she replied, “for mebbe you’d like to wash an’ fix up ’fore dinner, so I’ll jest show ye where to,” and she led the way upstairs and into the “front parlor bedroom.”

“There,” she said, “make yourself comf’table, an’ dinner ’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

For a moment John mentally rubbed his eyes.  Then he turned and caught both of Mrs. Bixbee’s hands and looked at her, speechless.  When he found words he said:  “I don’t know what to say, nor how to thank you properly.  I don’t believe you know how kind this is.”

“Don’t say nothin’ about it,” she protested, but with a look of great satisfaction.  “I done it jest t’ relieve my mind, because ever sence you fust come, I ben worryin’ over your bein’ at that nasty tavern,” and she made a motion to go.

“You and your brother,” said John earnestly, still holding her hands, “have made me a gladder and happier man this Christmas day than I have been for a very long time.”

“I’m glad on’t,” she said heartily, “an’ I hope you’ll be comf’table an’ contented here.  I must go now an’ help Sairy dish up.  Come down to the settin’ room when you’re ready,” and she gave his hands a little squeeze.

“Aunt Po——­, I beg pardon, Mrs. Bixbee,” said John, moved by a sudden impulse, “do you think you could find it in your heart to complete my happiness by giving me a kiss?  It’s Christmas, you know,” he added smilingly.

Aunt Polly colored to the roots of her hair.  “Wa’al,” she said, with a little laugh, “seein’ ’t I’m old enough to be your mother, I guess ’t won’t hurt me none,” and as she went down the stairs she softly rubbed her lips with the side of her forefinger.

John understood now why David had looked out of the bank window so often that morning.  All his belongings were in Aunt Polly’s best bedroom, having been moved over from the Eagle while he and David had been in the office.  A delightful room it was, in immeasurable contrast to his squalid surroundings at that hostelry.  The spacious bed, with its snowy counterpane and silk patchwork “comf’table” folded on the foot, the bright fire in the open stove, the big bureau and glass, the soft carpet, the table for writing and reading standing in the bay, his books on the broad mantel, and his dressing things laid out ready to his hand, not to mention an ample supply of dry towels on the rack.

The poor fellow’s life during the weeks which he had lived in Homeville had been utterly in contrast with any previous experience.  Nevertheless he had tried to make the best of it, and to endure the monotony, the dullness, the entire lack of companionship and entertainment with what philosophy he could muster.  The hours spent in the office were the best part of the day.  He could manage to find occupation for all of them, though a village bank is not usually a scene of active bustle.  Many of the people who did business there diverted him somewhat, and most of them seemed never too much in a hurry to stand around and talk the sort of thing that interested them.  After John had got acquainted with his duties and the people he came in contact with, David gave less personal attention to the affairs of the bank; but he was in and out frequently during the day, and rarely failed to interest his cashier with his observations and remarks.