Welcome back, everyone to one thousand one classic short stories and tales.

This is your host and storyteller, John Haggardorn.

And now, in keeping with our fall family holiday season specials, Christmas Jenny, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. This story,

Christmas Jenny, was published in Harper's Bazaar on December 22, 1888. And now our story. The day before, there had been a rain and a thaw.

Then in the night, the wind had suddenly blown from the north, and then it had grown cold in the

morning. It was very clear and cold, and there was the hard glitter of ice over everything.

The snow crust had a thin coat of ice, and all the open fields shone and flashed.

The tree boughs and trunks, and all the little twigs, were enameled with ice.

The roads were glare and slippery with it, and so were the door yards.

In old Jonas Carey's yard, the path that sloped from the door to the well was like a frozen brook.

Quite early in the morning, old Jonas Carey came out with a pail and went down the path to the well.

He went slowly and laboriously, shuffing his feet, so he should not fall. He was tall

and gaunt, and one side of his body seemed to slant toward the other. He settled so much more

heavily upon one foot. He was somewhat stiff and lame for movementism. He reached the well

in safety, hung the pail, and began pumping.

He pumped with extreme slowness and steadiness,

a certain expression of stolid solemnity which his face war never changed.

When he had filled his pail, he took it carefully from the pump spout

and started back to the house, shuffling as before.

He was two-thirds of the way to the door, when he came to an extremely slippery place.

Just there, some roots from a little cherry tree crossed the path, and the ice made a dangerous little pitch over them.

Old Jonas lost his footing, and sat down suddenly. The water was all spilled. The house door flew open, and an old woman

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