Cheese was more than a taste with Keith’s father.  It was a hobby, and one of his few pastimes was to skirmish in strange little shops for some particularly old and strong-smelling piece at a reasonable price.  When he brought home a bargain of that kind, he acted like a bibliophile having just captured a rare first edition for a song, and the mother tried hard to share his enthusiasm.  But, she said once, she had to draw the line at cheese that walked by itself.  Half in jest and half in earnest, the father maintained that the maggots were the very essence of the cheese, and that to remove them was to lose the finest flavour.  This year the father had bought a whole fresh cheese in order to age it at home and thus save money in two ways, the price being proportionate to the age.

The same large-handed system prevailed in other things, though the parents often spoke of their poverty, and though their resources undoubtedly were very limited.  Shirts, table-ware, bed-linen, china, etc., must needs be acquired in round numbers.  To have less than a dozen of anything was to have nothing at all.  The breaking of a cup was a family disaster if it could not be replaced.  Everything had to be in sets, and to preserve these intact, the utmost care was preached and exercised.  It bred thrift and orderliness, but also an undue regard for property.

Finally came the time for baking and other direct preparations for a holiday season that in the good old days used to last from Christmas Eve to January 13th known as the Twentieth Christmas Day, when everybody “danced the Yule out.”  What interested Keith most in this part of the proceedings was the making of gingersnaps according to a recipe transmitted to his mother from bygone generations and cherished by her as a precious family secret.  A whole day was set aside for the purpose and at the end of it they had a big, bulging earthen jar filled to the brim.  Keith used to boast to other children of those dainties that, in addition to their taste, had the fascination of many different shapes—­hearts, crowns, lilies, clubs, diamonds, baskets, and so on.  They really deserved all the praise they got, and he had so little to boast of on the whole.  The jar stood on the floor in the pantry back of the parlour, and once in a while Keith found his way to it without maternal permission, although, as a rule, he was little given to lawbreaking.

One morning three or four days before Christmas Lena was heard calling from the kitchen: 

“Keith, Keith, come and look!”

Eager as always when the slightest excitement was promised, the boy started so suddenly that his little table was upset with its whole population of tin soldiers and his mother was moved to remark that “it was no use behaving as if the house were on fire.”

“Look at the snow,” said Lena, pointing to the window when Keith reached the kitchen, relieved at not having had to pick up the spilled toys before he could go.