On other days one may forget them, but on New Year's-day our isolation comes home to us, and, do what we may, we are sad and silent.

Where are they now?
What are they doing now?
is the thought which rises in every breast.

The father's thoughts are with his children; he dimly sees before him their rosy faces, and their mother who is dressing them.

How weary, too, must the long days be for her, separated from her husband.

Last year she had taught the baby to repeat a fable, and she brought him all trembling to recite it to the father.