6 CHRISTMAS I[N AMERICA,

his strong form was seen passing through the wicket gate that
led to the church, whether the breath of June was in the air, or
Chocorua’s triple peaks were obscured by a scowling sky, or
rose in silence, covered with snow. But in his old age there
happened to him a mzvacle. i myself saw it, though I was then
a child.

Parson Pool was my grandfather. { was his pet. He used
to take me with him to his parishioners whenever he went. I
well remember his gig and poor old Dolly, the mare, with her
harness all tied up with tow strings and toggles, —a faithful
animal who bore her lashings with resignation, and has long
been free from her woes.

Parson Pool was a very tender-hearted man, and next to his
love of children was that of animals, notwithstanding . the
whacks that old Dolly received.

There used to be a season in the village which was called
“ killing-time,’— a few weeks in December when the fatted
cattle, hogs, and poultry were killed. The neighbors used to
gather from house to house on the occasion of such annual
slaughters, but the parson was never seen among them. He
usually shut himself up in the garret on the morning that his
own pig was killed. and did not appear below:stairs until the
defunct animal's “liver and lights” were frying for the butcher’s
dinner. If he were riding at this season and heard one of his
neighbor's pigs squeal on being run down by the butcher, he
would give old Dolly an extra whack, put the reins between
his knees, and clap both hands over his ears, and hold them
there tightly.

“Mary,” I once heard him say, after such an experience, “ it
does seem to me that there is something wrong in the make-up
of this world; but then,” he added, “I ought not to say any-
thing, —I like a piece of fresh pork myself sometimes.”