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Kemson puts the kettle on and makes a stew, cooking the oysters till they are thoroughly done.And she makes coffee, the kind you can't tell from tea by the looks, and have to try twice before you can tell by the taste.Ah! winter brings many joyous sports and pastimes.And you get back home along about half-past two, and the fire's out, and the folks are in bed, and you have to be at the store to open up at seven - Laws!I wish it was so I could go sleigh-riding once more in the long winter evenings, when the pitcher in the spare bedroom bursts, and makes a noise like a cannon.

And sliding down hill, I like that.

What?Coasting?Never heard of it.If it's anything like sliding down hill, it's all right.For a joke you can take a barrel-stave and hold on to that and slide down.It goes like a scared rabbit, but that isn't so much the point as that it slews around and spills you into a drift.Sleds are lower and narrower than they used to be, and they also lack the artistic adornment of a pink, or a blue, or a black horse, painted with the same stencil but in different colors, and named "Dexter," or "Rarus,'' or"Goldsmith Maid."These are good names, but nobody ever called his sled by a name.Boggs's hill, back of the lady's house that taught the infant-class in Sunday-school, was a good hill.It had a creek at the bottom, and a fine, long ride, eight or ten feet, on the ice.But Dangler's hill was the boss.It was the one we all made up our minds we would ride down some day when the snow was just right.We'd go over there' and look up to the brow of the hill and say: "Gee!But wouldn't a fellow come down like sixty, though?"

"Betchy!"

We'd look up again, and somebody would say: "Aw, come on.Less go over to Boggs's hill."

"Thought you was goin' down Dangler's."

"Yes, I know, but all the other fellows is over to Boggs's."

"A-ah, ye're afraid."

"Ain't either."

"Y' are teether."

"I dare you."

"Oh, well now -- "

"I double dare you."

"All right.I will if you will.You go first."

"Nah, you go first.The fellow that's dared has got to go first. Ain't that so, Chuck?Ain't that so, Monkey?"

"I'll go down if you will, on'y you gotta go first."

"Er - er - Who all 's over at Boggs's hill?"

"Oh, the whole crowd of 'em, Turkey-egg McLaughlin, and Ducky Harshberger, and - Oh, I don' know who all."

"Tell you what less do.Less wait till it gets all covered with ice, and all slick and smooth.Then less come over and go down."

"Say, won't she go like sixty then!Jeemses Rivers!Come on, I'll beat you to the corner."

That was the closest we ever came to going down Dangler's hill. Railroad hill wasn't so bad, over there by the soap-factory, because they didn't run trains all the time, and you stood a good chance of missing being run over by the engine, but Dangler's Well, now, I want to tell you Dangler's was an awful steep hill, and a long one, and when you think that it was so steep nobody ever pretended to drive up it even in the summer-time, and you slide down the hill and think that, once you got to going.

Fun's fun, I know, but nobody wants to go home with half his scalp hanging over one eye, and dripping all over the back porch.Because, you know, a fellow's mother gets crosser about blood on wood-work than anything else.Scrubbing doesn't do the least bit of good; it has to be planed off, or else painted.

Let me see, now.Have I missed anything?I'll count 'em off on my fingers.There's skating, and sleigh-riding, and sliding down hill, and Oh, yes.Snowballing and making snow-men.Nobody makes a snow-man but once, and nobody makes a snow-house after it has caved in on him once and like to killed him.And as for snowballing - Look here.Do you know what's the nicest thing about winter?Get your feet on a hot stove, and have the lamp over your left shoulder, and a pan of apples, and something exciting to read, like "Frank Among the Indians."Eh, how about it?In other words, the best thing about winter is when you can forget that it is winter.

The excitement that prompts "It snows!" and "Hurrah!" mighty soon peters out, and along about the latter part of February, when you go to the window and see that it is snowing again - again?Consarn the luck! - you and the poor widow with the large family and the small woodpile are absolutely at one.

You do get so sick and tired of winter.School lets out at four o'clock, and it's almost dark then.There's no time for play, for there's all that wood and kindling to get in, and Pap's awful cranky when he hops out of bed these frosty mornings to light the fire, and finds you've been skimpy with the kindling.And the pump freezes up, and you've got to shovel snow off the walks and out in the back-yard so Tilly can hang up the clothes when she comes to do the washing. And your mother is just as particular about your neck being clean as she is in summer when the water doesn't make you feel so shivery. And there's the bottle of goose-grease always handy, and the red flannel to pin around your throat, and your feet in the bucket of hot water before you go to bed - Aw, put 'em right in.Yes, I know it's hot.That's what going to make you well.In with 'em.Aw, , it isn't going to scald you.Go on now.The water'll be stone-cold in a minute."Oh, I don't like winter for a cent.Kitchoo!There, I've gone and caught fresh cold.

I wish it would hurry up and come spring.

"When the days begin to lengthen, The cold begins to strengthen."

Now, you know that doesn't stand to reason.Every day the sun inches a little higher in the heavens.His rays strike us more directly and for a longer time each day.But it's the cantankerous fact, and i.