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Updated: May 2, 2025
He leaned his empty weapon against the wall, and strode out to the little girl who was perched up on the trough. "Chrismus gift, Cunnel!" he cried, cheerily. "Ter-morrer's Chrismus." The echoes caught the word. In vibratory jubilance they repeated it.
They even attempted to break out the road, and Herrick harnessed his horse and started for home; but he had not gone ten rods before he was forced to turn back. "'T ain't no use," he grumbled. "I calc'late I'm booked here till the crack o' doom!" "An' ter-morrer's the fun'ral," groaned Jim. "An' I can't git nowhere <i>nowhere</i> ter tell 'em not ter come!"
'Wot 'ave yer been doin' ter yer fice? My! 'Nothin'. 'Garn! Yer can't 'ave got a fice like thet all by itself. 'I 'ad a bit of a scrimmage with a woman dahn the street, sobbed out Liza. 'She 'as give yer a doin'; an' yer all upset an' look at yer eye! I brought in a little bit of stike for ter-morrer's dinner; you just cut a bit off an' put it over yer optic, that'll soon put it right.
"Their'n gins a gallon a milkin'," she said, in rueful comparison. As she came up the slope with the piggin on her head, her husband was looking down from the porch with a lowering brow. "Why n't ye spen' the day a-milkin' the cow?" he drawled. "Dawdlin' yander in the cow-pen till this time in the mornin'! An' ter-morrer's Chrismus!" The word smote upon her weary heart with a dull pain.
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