But he did at
length; and talked with the Widow Wheeler, and saw all her well-managed
children, and felt ashamed of his meanness only ten days before. Deacon
Willberate saw his son Ned dancing with Squire Allen's rosy daughter,
Matilda,--for the young people cared more for each other than for all
the allusions to slavery in all the prayers and sermons too, of the
whole world,--and it so reminded him of the time when he also danced
with _his_ Matilda,--not openly at Christmas celebrations, but by
stealth,--that he went straight up to his neighbor; "Squire Allen,"
said he, "give me your hand. New Year's is a good day to square just
accounts; Christmas is not a bad time to settle needles quarrels. I
suppose you and I, both of us, may be wrong. I know I have been for one.
Let by-gones be by-gones." "Exactly so," said the Squire. "I am sorry,
for my part. Let us wipe out the old score, and chalk up nothing for the
future but good feelings. If a prayer parted, perhaps a benediction will
unite us; for Katie and Ned look as if they meant we should be more than
mere neighbors. Let us begin by becoming friends."
Colonel Stone took his youngest daughter, who had a club-foot, up to
the Christmas tree for her present, and there met face to face with
his enemy's oldest girl, who was just taking the gift for her youngest
brother, Robert,--holding him up in her bare arms that he might reach
it himself.
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