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Lance as he swung out through the kitchen shed to where the woodpile was, and presently they heard his ax ringing cheerfully.
    Daryl thrilled to the joy of the day and their own dear home and wondered shyly how it would all impress Harold when he came. She smiled quietly to herself at the glib way Mother had called him by his name, after almost mistering him after all. But she had said “Harold,” and she would surely like him when she knew him, of course. Everybody liked Harold. He was very popular wherever he went. Then she got up and whisked the dishes into the pan and out again to the shelves in a jiffy and was ready to work on the tree.
    Lance was already at work on the lights.
    “It really is a blizzard, isn’t it?” Daryl asked a little anxiously. “You don’t suppose the roads will be blocked so badly that Harold will not be able to get through?” Her tone showed an anxiety she did not want to own, and her brother gave her a quick keen glance.
    “Well, I don’t know, Darrie. It might be. You know the wind is pretty high, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the drifts were high in the open country.”
    “Even on the highway?”
    “Yes, even on the highway, if the wind happens to veer the wrong way. You know it’s been snowing for a good many hours, and it doesn’t take long for snow to make a big barrier of itself when it has the wind at its back. What time did he start?”
    “Why, I don’t know. He said he doubted if he could get off before noon.” Her eyes were troubled, and Lance had a sudden thought that she looked like their mother with that anxiety in the depths of her blue eyes.
    “I wouldn’t worry,” he soothed. “He would likely have telephoned you before this if there was any doubt of his coming through. Just don’t think about it. It’ll all come out right.”
    Daryl flashed a smile at him and brightened.
    “Of course!” she said.
    “Of course!” said he. “Now, that’s that. You can go ahead and put on your silver threads and pretties, and I’ll go out and milk Chrystobel. I think Dad is planning to get ahead of me, and I don’t think he should. He got pretty well puffed before we got home this morning, and I think he ought to rest.”
    Lance lowered his voice and nodded toward his father who had come in from his consultation with the hens and cow and was taking a bit of a nap in his easy chair near the dining room couch where Mother had already fallen asleep.
    “Yes,” said Daryl in a soft whisper, “do, and I’ll strain the milk and you can get ready to go for Ruth.”
    So Lance went to the barn and Daryl, thinking pleasant thoughts, went on threading the noble branches of the tree with silver. Outside the snow thickened and pelted down with added vigor, but Daryl resolutely kept her back turned to the window until she heard Lance come in and then she went quickly to the milk room to help him with pouring the milk through the strainer into the shining pans that stood waiting.
    There was a window directly behind the broad shelf where the pans stood, and its outside sill and overhang were deep and heavy with snow. Daryl couldn’t help looking out and was aghast.
    “Oh, Lance. It’s awful, isn’t it?” she said, appalled. “I don’t see how anybody can drive in that! I don’t see how even Ruth is going to get here! Our Christmas is going to be all spoiled!” Her tone was full of dismay.
    “Ruth will get here!” said Lance firmly. “Don’t worry about her. And our Christmas isn’t going to be spoiled. It’s going to be great. Be your age, Daryl, and rise above this. Everything is going to be fine!”
    Daryl looked at him dubiously.
    “Oh, yes?” she said dejectedly.
    “Well, it will, you’ll see! There! There goes the telephone! You go! I’ll finish this!”
    Daryl hurried into the other room, but came back almost at once, her face excited, her eyes bright with worry.
    “It was Ruth,” she explained. “She was afraid you were coming after her, and