I wouldn't trust that man as fur as you could throw a bull by the tail." It was a cold clear night and when we reached home the new stove was snapping with the heat in its fire-box and the pudding puffing in the pot and old Shep dreaming in the chimney corner.

Aunt Deel gave me a hug at the door.

Shep barked and leaped to my shoulders.
"Why, Bart! You're growin' like a weed--ain't ye ?--ayes ye be," my aunt said as she stood and looked at me.

"Set right down here an' warm ye--ayes!--I've done all the chores--ayes!" How warm and comfortable was the dear old room with those beloved faces in it.

I wonder if paradise itself can seem more pleasant to me.