"Eh?
What's that?
An empty house makes ye terrible sad on a Chris'mas day?
What's that?
Ye love us an' ye'd like to go along down to Aunt Liza's an' play with the children ?" It was a clever ruse of Uncle Peabody, for Aunt Deel was softened by his interpretation of the dog's heart and she proposed: "Le's take him along with us--poor dog! ayes!" Then Uncle Peabody shouted: "Jump right into the sleigh--you ol' skeezucks!--an' I'll cover ye up with a hoss blanket.

Git in here.

We ain't goin' to leave nobody alone on Chris'mas day that loves us--not by a jug full--no, sir! I wouldn't wonder if Jesus died for dogs an' hosses as well as for men." Shep had jumped in the back of the sleigh at the first invitation and lay quietly under his blanket as we hurried along in the well-trod snow and the bells jingled.

It was a joyful day and old Shep was as merry and well fed as the rest of us.
How cold and sad and still the house seemed when we got back to it in the evening! We had to drive to a neighbor's and borrow fire and bring it home with us in a pail of ashes as we were out of tinder.

I held the lantern for my uncle while he did the chores and when we had gone to bed I fell asleep hearing him tell of Joseph and Mary going to pay their taxes.
In the spring my uncle hired a man to work for us--a noisy, brawny, sharp-featured fellow with keen gray eyes, of the name of Dug Draper.
Aunt Deel hated him.