When the Yule Log Burns
A Christmas Story
By Leona Dalrymple
Author of "Uncle Noah's Christmas Party," etc.
New York
Robert M. McBride & Company
1916
Copyright, 1916, by Robert M. McBride &Co.
Published November, 1916
CONTENTS
PART I
IN WHICH WE LIGHT A YULE-LOG
I Kindlings
II WishingSparks
III By the Fire
IV Embers
PART II
IN WHICH WE LIGHT THE NEW LOG WITH THE EMBERS OF THE OLD
I The FireAgain
II It BlazesHigher
III The Log atDawn
IV The Log atTwilight
Part One
In Which We Light a Yule Log
When the Yule Log Burns
I
Kindlings
Polly, the Doctor's old white mare, plodded slowly along the snowycountry road by the picket fence, and turned in at the snow-cappedposts. Ahead, roofed with the ragged ermine of a newly-fallen snow,the Doctor's old-fashioned house loomed gray-white through thesnow-fringed branches of the trees, a quaint iron lantern, whichwas picturesque by day and luminous and cheerful by night, hangingwithin the square, white-pillared portico at the side. That themany-paned, old-fashioned window on the right framed the snow-whitehead of Aunt Ellen Leslie, the Doctor's wife, the old Doctorhimself was comfortably aware—for his kindly eyes missednothing.
He could have told you with a reflective stroke of his grizzledbeard that the snow had stopped but an hour since, and that nowthrough the white and heavy lacery of branches to the west glowedthe[Pg9] flame-gold of a winter sunset, glinting ruddily overthe box-bordered brick walk, the orchard and the comfortable barnwhich snugly housed his huddled cattle; that the grasslands to thesouth were thickly blanketed in white; that beyond in the evergreenforest the stately pines and cedars were marvelously draped andcoiffed in snow. For the old Doctor loved these things of Nature ashe loved the peace and quiet of his home.
So, as he turned in at the driveway and briskly resigned thecare of Polly to old Asher, his seamed and wrinkled helper, theDoctor's eyes were roving now to a corner, snug beneath a tatteredrug of snow, where by summer Aunt Ellen's petunias and phlox andlarkspur grew—and now to the rose-bushes ridged in down, andat last to his favorite winter nook, a thicket of black aldersfreighted with a wealth of berries. How crimson they were amid thewhite quiet of the garden! And the brightly colored fruit