THE STORY OF A NIGHT November, with its bright, bleak skies, sere leaves tossing, sad winds sobbing, and rains that wept for days and nights together, on dead flowers and dying grasses, moaned itself away at last, and December swept into its place with a good rousing snow-storm, merry sleigh-bells, and bright promises of coming Christmas.

The girls coasted and skated, and made snow-men and snowballs and snow-forts.

Joy learned to slide down a moderate hill at a mild rate without screaming, and to get along somehow on her skates alone--for the very good reason that Tom wouldn't help her.

Gypsy initiated her into the mysteries of "cannon-firing" from the great icy forts, and taught her how to roll the huge balls of snow.
Altogether they had a very good time.

Not as good as they might have had, by any means; the old rubs and jars were there still, though of late they had been somewhat softened.