THE NEIGHBORS.

WHEN Christmas comes in the winter-time, as it has come ever since I can remember, the earth is very apt to get a Christmas present of a fall of snow; and if one were an old fence, or a house-roof, or a patch of brown dry grass that had once been green, one would wish every Christmas to have the same present of a great snow fall that should cover one up, so that people would say, "Really, how charmingly that old fence looks; or "How the snow takes off the sharpness of that roof;" or, if they were trying to be poetical, "See what a soft ermine mantle hangs over the shoulder of that hill!" And yet, if the snow lay heavily upon the house-roof very long, one would think that there could be little heat for the dwellers inside, else it would be melted off.

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Everybody, however, does not keep a fire burning all night in the house, and perhaps that was the reason why two houses which stood almost touching each other had heavy

capes of snow on, the night before Christmas. It was easily to be seen, for the moon was shining brightly after the day's snow-storm, and the house-tops looked wonderfully white and cold. These two houses, though the snow fell on both alike, were as different as two men. One, with its pointed roof, was like a tall man with an old-fashioned hat on. It stood in a dignified sort of way, as if it respected itself, looking out in every direction with windows set firmly in their places, or perched, leaning upon their elbows, on the roof. Each of the windows had its own private cap, which it kept on all the while of course, for its head was out-of-doors in all kinds of weather; and the front door had, besides, two pillars on which to lean. A flight of steps led up to it, so that people who wished to enter must climb up to it, and ring a brass bell-handle, and read FROME on a great door-plate. There was a chimney, with a row of little chimney-pots on top-a separate little hole for each fire-place in the house: the range in the kitchen sent up its smoke by a sort of private back-stairs, so as not to interfere with the smoke from the parlor and the dining-room. And the fence in front of the house had a brass head on each iron spike, and they stood in a

row, glaring at one like a squad of policemen, saying, "Keep your hands off the house, if they're not clean!"

It seems very strange, then, that upon one side of this house the windows should all look at the wall of the other house, which stood separated from it by not more than ten feet. They did not indeed look into it, for their blinds were all shut tight, but it was for no lack of openness in the other house. This had no blinds at all, and it had windows directly opposite the blinds, at which they stared all day long, like eyes without winkers. The house was not so high, however, as Mr. Frome's, and had a flat roof, over which the upper windows in the roof of Mr. Frome's house could see very well if there was anything worth looking at. It was a squarish, shortnecked house, sitting on the ground, and one could walk straight in by a door so flat that when it was shut one could hardly tell it from the rest of the house-front. Regular rows of windows occupied the front and side, looking as if they had all been sawed out after the house was made. There was no fence in front; but the fence that separated it from the neighbor house was right against this house, or rather the house looked as if it had been set

against the fence, for the fence was older. There was a name upon the door, spelled in china letters-GRASH. So Mr. Grash lived here.

At the time when our story begins there was no light in Mr. Frome's house, but in a window of the second story of Mr. Grash's there was a twinkling light, and shadows of persons could be seen moving back and forth. There was a light in the neighboring room also. It was nearly midnight; the snow-storm which had fallen all day had given place to bright moonlight, but clouds had gathered, and there was promise of a new snow-storm. Nevertheless, two humble neighbors that had come out to see each other in the moonlight, remained out-of-doors. They were two cats, upon the roofs of these two houses. One was sitting on the sill of a roof-window of Mr. Frome's house

that was Mr. Frome's Cat; the other was upon the roof of Mr. Grash's house-that was Mr. Grash's Cat. They could talk very easily across the narrow space that separated the two houses.

"A still night, neighbor," said Mr. Frome's Cat.

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Aye, you may well say that," rejoined Mr Grash's Cat. "This snow does make soft

travelling. It's the only time when I wish I were white, snow-white I mean, for I have some white," and he looked proudly on his fur. "One makes dreadful shadows on the snow. I say, do you think we should make less if we were wholly white?"

"Well, I am not sure," said the other, reflecting. "But it's the moon you know that makes us make shadows, and this is what puzzles me. Why does not the moon make a shadow too? That great round thing goes across the sky as fast as a rat sometimes, but we don't see any round shadow going down the street. I've often watched for it," and he looked puzzled. They both sat some time in silence, but neither could answer the question. Mr. Frome's Cat was still thinking about it, but Mr. Grash's Cat had other thoughts. spoke again,

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He

'I say, does she ever leave the cover off?' "The cover?"

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"Yes, the cover; you know, the cook, in the back-yard," said Mr. Grash's Cat, licking his chops, and looking rather hungry.

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"I am fed in the house," said Mr. Frome's Cat with dignity.

"As if you did not go out and help yourself," said the other scornfully.