"I would n't let her know it for all the world," remarked Lute, confidentially, "but mother has lost her grip on cooking. At any rate, her cooking is n't what it used to be; it has changed."
Then Em came bravely to the rescue. "No, Lute," says she, and she meant it, "your mother's cooking has n't changed, but _you_ have. The man has grown away from the boy, and the tastes, the ways, and the delights of boyhood have no longer any fascination for the man."
"May be you 're right," said Lute. "At any rate, I 'm free to say that _your_ cooking beats the world."
Good for Lute! Virtue triumphs and my true story ends. But first an explanation to concinnate my narrative.
I should never have known this true story if Lute himself had n't told it to me at the last dinner of the Sons of New England--told it to me right before Em, that dear, patient little martyred wife of his. And I knew by the love light in Em's eyes that she was glad that she had endured that martyrdom for Lute's sake.
One Christmas eve Joel Baker was in a most unhappy mood. He was lonesome and miserable; the chimes making merry Christmas music outside disturbed rather than soothed him, the jingle of the sleigh-bells fretted him, and the shrill whistling of the wind around the corners of the house and up and down the chimney seemed to grate harshly on his ears.
"Humph," said Joel, wearily, "Christmas is nothin' to me; there _was_ a time when it meant a great deal, but that was long ago--fifty years is a long stretch to look back over. There is nothin' in Christmas now, nothin' for _me_ at least; it is so long since Santa Claus remembered me that I venture to say he has forgotten that there ever was such a person as Joel Baker in all the world. It used to be different; Santa Claus _used_ to think a great deal of me when I was a boy. Ah! Christmas nowadays ain't what it was in the good old time--no, not what it used to be."
As Joel was absorbed in his distressing thoughts he became aware very suddenly that somebody was entering or trying to enter the room. First came a draft of cold air, then a scraping, grating sound, then a strange shuffling, and then,--yes, then, all at once, Joel saw a pair of fat legs and a still fatter body dangle down the chimney, followed presently by a long white beard, above which appeared a jolly red nose and two bright twinkling eyes, while over the head and forehead was drawn a fur cap, white with snowflakes.