glad I was when there happened to be a light
in the church, and the painted glass window
shone out at us as we came along the frozen
street. In the winter bleakness a hunger for
color came over people, like the Laplander's
craving for fats and sugar. Without knowing
why, we used to linger on the sidewalk out-
side the church when the lamps were lighted
early for choir practice or prayer-meeting,
shivering and talking until our feet were like
lumps of ice. The crude reds and greens and
blues of that colored glass held us there.

On winter nights, the lights in the Harlings'
windows drew me like the painted glass. In-
side that warm, roomy house there was color,
too. After supper I used to catch up my
cap, stick my hands in my pockets, and dive
through the willow hedge as if witches were
after me. Of course, if Mr. Harling was at
home, if his shadow stood out on the blind
of the west room, I did not go in, but turned
and walked home by the long way, through the
street, wondering what book I should read as
I sat down with the two old people.

Such disappointments only gave greater
zest to the nights when we acted charades, or
had a costume ball in the back parlor, with

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p198 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p199w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p200

v?