"But is there anything more lovely than the midnight mass at Saint Coeur de Marie, with Yvonne Boilly playing the harmonium, and Pacifique Simard who sings the Latin so beautifully!" She was very careful to say nothing that might seem reproachful or complaining on such a night as this, but in spite of herself the words and tone had a sad ring of loneliness and remoteness.

Her husband noticed it, and, himself under the influence of the day, was quick to take the blame.
"It is true enough, Laura, that you would have had a happier life with some other man than me, who lived on a comfortable farm, near the settlements." "No, Samuel; what the good God does is always right.

I grumble ...
Of course I grumble.

Is there anyone who hasn't something to grumble about?
But we have never been unhappy, we two; we have managed to live without faring over-badly; the boys are fine boys, hard-working, who bring us nearly all they earn; Maria too is a good girl..." Affected by these memories of the past, they also were thinking of the candles already lit, of the hymns soon to be raised in honour of the Saviour's birth.

Life had always been a simple and a straightforward thing for them; severe but inevitable toil, a good understanding between man and wife, obedience alike to the laws of nature and of the Church.