On Christmas Day in the morning, by Grace S. Richmond, And all
the angels in heaven do sing on Christmas Day on Christmas Day, and all
the bells in Earth do ring on Christmas Day in the morning, Old Son.
That Christmas Day virtually began a whole year beforehand with a red hot letter
written by Guy Fernald to his younger sister Nan, who had been married to
Samuel Burnett just two and one half years. The letter was read aloud by
Missus Burnett to her husband at the breakfast table the second day after Christmas.
From start to finish, it was upon one subject, and it read as
follows, Dear Nan, it's a confounded, full grown shame that not a
soul of us all got home for Christmas, except yours truly, and he
only for a couple of hours. What have the blessed old folks done to
us that we treat them like this? I was invited to the Seawells for
the first day and went. Of course, you know why. We had
a ripping time. But along toward evening I began to feel worried. I
really thought Ralph was home. He wrote me that he might swing round that
way by the holidays, but I knew the rest of you were all wrapped
up in your own Christmas trees and weren't going to get there. Well,
I took the seven thirty down and walked in on them, sitting all alone
by the fire by George, just like the pictures you see of the birds
all flown and that sort of thing. I felt gulpish in my throat on
my honor, I did when I looked at them. Mother just gave one
gasp and flew into my arms. And Dad got up more slowly. He
had that darned rheumatism worse than ever this winter, and came over, and
I thought he'd shake my hand off. Well. I sat down between them
by the fire, and pretty soon I got down in the old way on
a cushion by Mother and let her run her fingers through my hair the way
she used to do, and nan, I'll be indicted for perjury if her
hand wasn't trembling. They were so glad to see me it made my throat
ache. Ralph had written he couldn't get round, And of course you'd all
written and sent them things, jolly things, and they appreciated them, but
blame it all. They were just dead lonesome, and the whole outfit of
us within three hundred miles, most within thirty. Nan, Next Christmas is
going to be different, That's all I say. I've got it all planned
out. The idea popped into my head when I came away last night.
Not that they had a word of blame. Not they They understood all about
the children and the cold snap and Ed's being under the weather, and Oliver's
wife's Neuralgia, and Ralph's girl in the west and all that, but that
didn't make the thing any easier for them. As I say, next year,
but you'll all hear from me then. Meanwhile, run down and see
them once or twice this winter, will you, Nan. Somehow it struck
me that they aren't so young as they used to be. Splendid winter weather,
Margaret Sewell's a peach, but I don't seem to make much headway.
My best to Sam, your affectionate brother. Guy. Gay Nan had felt
a slight choking in her own throat as she read this letter. We really
must make an effort to be their Christmas next year, Sam, she said
to her husband, and Sam assented cheerfully. He only wished there were a
father and mother somewhere in the world for him to go home to. Guy
wrote the same sort of thing with more or less detail, to Edson and
Oliver, his married elder brothers, to Ralph, his unmarried brother, and
to Caroline missus Charles Wetmore, his other and elder married sister. He received
varied and more or less sympathetic responses to the effect that with so many little
children and such snow drifts as always blocked the roads leading toward Northeasterbrook, it
really was not strange, and of course somebody would go next year. But
they had all sent the nicest gifts they could find. Didn't Guy think mother
liked those beautiful Russian sables Ralph sent her, And wasn't father pleased with his
gold headed cane from Oliver? Surely, with such presence pouring in from all
the children, father and mother, Fernald couldn't feel so awfully neglected gold headed
cane be hanged. Guy exploded when he read this last sentence from the letter
of Marian, Oliver's wife. I'll bet she put him up to it.
If anybody dares give me a gold headed cane before I'm ninety five, I'll
thrash him with it on the spot. He wasn't using it either, bless
him. He has his old hickory stick, and he wouldn't have had that
if that abominable rheumatism hadn't gripped him so hard. He isn't old enough to
use a cane, by jolly and all ought to know it. If if
Marian doesn't, I'm glad I sent him that typewriter. He liked that,
I know he did, and it'll amuse him too, not to make him
think he's ready to die. Guy was not the fellow to forget anything which
had taken hold of him, as that pathetic Christmas home coming had done.
When the year had nearly rolled around, the first of December saw him at
work getting his plans in train. He began with his eldest brother Oliver,
because he considered missus Oliver the hardest proposition he had to tackle in the carrying
out of his idea. You see, he expounded patiently as they sat and
stared at him. It isn't that they aren't always awfully glad to see the
whole outfit, children and all, but it just struck me it would do
him a lot of good to revive old times. I thought, if we
could make it just as much as possible, like one of the old Christmases
before anybody got married, hang up the stockings and all, you know,
it would give them a mighty jolly surprise. I planned to have us all
creep in in the night and go to bed in our old rooms, and
then in the morning see Missus Oliver looked at him, an eager, flush
lit his still boyish face. Guy was twenty eight, and his blue eyes
were very bright. His lithe muscular figure bent toward her pleadingly. All his
arguments were aimed at her. Oliver sat back in his impassive way and watched
them both. It could not be denied that it was Marian's decisions, which
usually ruled in matters of this sort. It seems to me a very strange
plan. Was Missus Oliver's comment. When Guy had laid the whole thing before
her in the most tactful manner he could command, she spoke rather coldly.
It is not usual to think that family should be broken up like the sun
Christmas Day of old days in the year four families with some one gone,
a mother or a father, just to please to elder people who expect nothing
of the sort, and who understand just why we can't all get home at
once. Don't you think you are really asking a good deal? Guy kept
his temper, though it was hard work. It doesn't seem to me,
I am, he answered, quite gently, it's only for once. I
really don't think father and mother would care much what sort of presence we brought
them, if only we came ourselves. Of course, I know I'm asking
a sacrifice of each family, and it may seem almost an insult not to
invite the children it all. Yet, perhaps next year we'll try gathering of
all the clans, But just for this year, honestly, I do awfully
wish you'd give me my way if you'd seen those two last Christmas. He
broke off, glancing appealingly at Oliver himself, To his surprise, that gentleman
shifted his pipe to a corner of his mouth and put a few pertinent questions
to his younger brother. Had he thought it all out? What time should
they arrive there? How early on the day after Christmas? Could they get
away? Was he positive they could all crowd into the house without rousing and
alarming the pair sure thing, Guy declared quickly. Marietta. Well, you
know I've had the soft side of her old heart ever since I was born.
Somehow, I talked it all over with her last year, and I'm
solid with her. All right. She'll work the game. You see.
Father's quite a bit deaf, now, father deaf? Sure, didn't you
know it forgotten? But mother'd hear us. No, she wouldn't. Don't
you know how she trusts everything about the house to Marietta since she got that
fall. Mother got a fall? Why, yes, Guy stared at his
brother with some impatience. Don't you remember she fell down the back stairs a
year ago, last October and hurt her knee. Certainly, Oliver his wife,
and post I wrote for you to tell her how sorry we were,
but I supposed she'd entirely recovered. She's a bit lame and always will be,
said Guy, a touch of reproach in his voice. Her niece stiffens
up in the night, and she doesn't get up and go prowling about at
the least noise the way she used to. Marietta won't let her. So
if we make a whisper of noise, Mariette'll tell her it's the cat or
something good. Lord, Yes, it can be worked, all right.
The only thing that worries me is the fear that I can't get all of
you to take hold of the scheme on my word all. He turned quite
away from his sister in law's critical gaze and faced his brother with something like
indignation in his frank young eyes. Don't we owe the old home anything but
a present tied up in tissue paper once a year. Marian began to speak.
She thought Guy was exceeding his rights and talking as if they had been
at fault. It was not often that elderly people had so many children within
call, loyal children who would do anything within reason. But certainly a man
owed something to his own family and at Christmas? Why not carry out this
plan at some other Her husband abruptly interrupted her. He took his pipe quite
out of his mouth and spoke decidedly. Guy, I believe you're right.
I'll be sorry to desert my own kids, of course, but I rather
think they can stand it for once. If the others fall into line,
you may count on me. Guy got away, feeling that the worst part
of his troubles was over. In his younger sister Nan. He hoped to
find an ardent ally, and he was not disappointed. Caroline missus Charles Wetmore
also fell in heartily with the plan. Ralph from somewhere in the far West
wrote that he would get home or break a leg edson thought the idea rather
a foolish one, but was persuaded by Jessica, his wife, whom Guy
privately declared a trump that he must go by all means. And so they
all fell into line, and there remained for Guy only the working out of
the details. Miss Fernald Marietta coolly strove with all the decision with which she
was capable to keep her high pitched middle aged voice. In order for you
get to bed, I most forget him what I was to ask you.
I s'pose you'll laugh. But Guy, he wrote me particular, he wanted
you and his father to Marietta's rather stern, thin face took on a curious
expression to hang up your stockings. Miss Fernald paused in the doorway of the
bedroom opening from the sitting room downstairs. She looked back at Marietta with her
gentle smile. Guy wrote that she asked, then it almost looks as if
he might be coming himself, doesn't it, Marietta. Well, I don't
know, as i'd really expect him, Marietta replied, turning her face away
and busying herself about the hearth. I guess what he meant was more in
the way of a surprise for Christmas present, something that i'll go in the
stockin'. Maybe it's rather odd he should have written you to ask me,
mused missus Ernold as she looked out the stockings. Marietta considered rapidly, well,
I s'pose he intended for me to get him on the sly without mentioning
it to you and put him what he sent. But I sort of guessed
you might like to fall in with his id by hangin em up yourself.
Here by the chimbly where the children all used to do it. Here's the
nails, same as they always was. Miss Fernald found the stockings and touched
her husband on the shoulder as he sat unlacing his shoes. Father Guy wrote,
he wanted us to hang up our stockings, she said, raising her
voice a little and speaking very distinctly. The elderly man beside her looked up,
smiling, well, well, he said anything to please the boy.
It doesn't seem more than a year since he was a little fellow hanging up
his own stocking, does it, mother? The stockings were hung in silence.
They looked thin and lonely as they dangled beside the dying fire. Marietta
hastened to make them less lonely. Well, she said, in a shamefaced
way. The silly boy said, I was to hang mine too. Goodness
knows what he'll find to put into it that'll fit less. It's a poker.
They smiled kindly at her, wished her good night, and went back
into their own room. The little episode had aroused no suspicions. It was
very like guy's affectionate boyishness. I presume he'll be down, said missus Fernald,
as she limped quietly about the room, making ready for bed. Don't
you remember how he surprised us last year. I'm sorry the others can't come,
of course, I sent them all the invitation, just as usual.
I shall all do that, but it is pretty snowy weather, and I
suppose they don't quite like to risk it. Presently, as she was putting
out the light, she heard Marietta at the door, Miss Fernald, Peter
Piper's got back in this part of the house somehow, and I can't lay
hands on him. Beats all. How cute that cat is, seems if
he knows when I'm going to put him out in the wood shed, I
don't think likely he'll do no harm. But I thought i'd tell you so.
If you heard any queer noises in the night, you'd know it was
Peter. Very well, Marietta. The soft voice came back to the schemer
on the other side of the door. Peter will be all right wherever he
is. I sha'n't be alarmed if I hear him, All right, miss
ernuld I just thought i'd let you know. And the guileful one went grinning
away. There was a long silence in the quiet sleeping room. Then out
of the darkness came this little colloquy, Emmeline, you aren't going to sleep.
I know I'm not. John. I Christmas Eve keeps one awake somehow,
it always did. Yes, I don't suppose the children realize it all,
do they? Oh? No, oh no, they don't realize.
They never will till they're hear themselves. It's all right, I think.
I think at least guy will be down tomorrow, don't you No, I
guess maybe he will. Then, after a short silence, Mother, You've
always got me, you know, you know you've always got me. Dear,
Yes, she would not let him hear the sob in her voice.
She crept close and spoke cheerfully in his best ear. And you've always got
me, Johnny boy, Thank the Lord, I have so counting their blessings.
They fell asleep at last, but even in sleep, one set of
lashes was strangely wet. Christopher jenks, what a drift? Lucky we weren't
two hours later, sh they might hear us, Nan, stop laughing,
or I'll drop a snowball down your neck. Here, Carol, give me
your hand. I'll plow you through large bodies. Move slowly, of course,
but go elbows first and you'll get there. Gee, whiz, can't
you get that door open? I'll be frozen fast? A light showed inside
the kitchen. The storm door swung open, propelled by force. From inside.
A cautious voice said low that the Fernald family. A chorus of whispers
came back at Miss Marrietta Coolie, Yes, yes, let us in we're
freezing, you bet with the fer an old family, every man jack of
us, not one missing. Oh Marietta, you dear old thing, hurry
up. This is their side of the house. Sh Carol, Your shushes
would wake the dead stumbling over their own feet and bundles. In the endeavor
to be perternaturally quiet, the crew poured into the warm kitchen, Bearded Oliver,
the oldest of the clan, stout edson, Big Ralph, tall and
slender Guy, and the two daughters of the house Caroline growing plump and rosy
at thirty, Nan slim and girlish at twenty four. They were all there.
Marietta heaved a sigh of content as she looked them over. Well,
I really didn't think you'd get here, all of you, Thank the Lord
you have. I suppose you're tearin' hungry, beIN past eleven. If you
think you can eat quiet as cats, I'll feed you up. But if
you're going to make as much rumpus as you did coming round the corner of
the woodshed, I'll have to pay you straight off to bed up the back
stairs. They pleaded for mercy and hot food. They got it. Everything
that could be had that would diffuse. No order of cookery through the house,
smoking clam broth, a great pot of baked beans, cold meats,
and jellies. They had no reason to complain of their reception. They ate
hungrily with the appetites of winter travel. Say, but this is great,
exulted Ralph the Stalwart, consuming a huge wedge of mince pie, with a
fine disregard for any consequences that might overtake him. This alone is worth it.
I haven't eaten such pie in a sentry. What a jolly place as
old kitchen is. Let's have a candy pull tomorrow. I haven't been home
Christmas in Let me see, by jove, I believe it's six seven,
yes, seven years. Look here, there's been some excuse for me.
But what about you people that live near? He looked accusingly about Carolyn got
up and came around to him. Don't talk about it tonight, she whispered.
We haven't any of us realized how long it's been. We'll get off
to bed now, guy declared, rising. I can't get over the feeling
that they may catch us down here if either of them should want some hot
water or anything. The dining room door's bolted, Marietta assured him, But
it might be explainin' if I had to bring em hot water by way of
the parlor. Now go awful careful up them stairs. They're pretty near over
your ma's head. But I don't dare have you tramped through the settin' room
to the front ones. Now remember that seventh stair creaks like ned. You've
got to step right on the outside edge. If it's to keep quiet.
I don't know, but what you boys better step right over that seventh stair
without touching foot to it. All right, we'll step Who's going to fix
the bundles? Caroline paused to ask as she started up the stairs. Marietta
guy answered, I've labeled every one, so be easy. If they hear
paper rattle, they'll think it's the usual presence we've sent on. And if
they come out, they'll see Marietta. So it's all right. Quite now,
remember the seventh stare. They crept up, one by one, each
to his or her old room. There needed to be no doubling up,
for the house was large and each room had been left precisely as its owner
had left it. It was rather ghostly. This stealing silently about with candles,
and in the necessity for the suppression of speech, the animation of the
party rather suffered eclipse. It was late and they were beginning to be sleepy,
so they were soon in bed, but somehow, once composed for slumber,
more than one grew wakeful again. Guy, lying staring at a patch
of wintry moonlight on the odd striped paper of his wall. It had stopped
snowing since they had come into the house, and the clouds had broken away,
leaving a brilliant sky, discovered his door to be softly opening. The
glimmer of a candle flickered through the crack, and a voice whispered his name.
Who is it? He answered under his breath, it's Nan. May
I come in? Of course? What's up? Nothing? I wanted to
talk a minute. She came noiselessly in wrapped in a wooly scarlet Kimano scarlet,
slippers on her feet, her brown braids hanging down her back. The
frost bloom lately on her cheeks had melted into a ruddy glow. Her eyes
were stars. She set her candle on the little stand and sat down on
the edge of Guy's bed. He raised himself on his elbow and lie looking
appreciatively at her. This is like old times, he said, But won't
you be cold? Not a bit. I'm only going to stay a minute
anyhow. This thing is warm as toast. Yes, isn't it like old
times? Got your lessons for tomorrow? She laughed. All but my caesar,
you'll help me with that in the morning, won't you sure? If
you'll make some cushions for my Bob's I will. Guy, how's Lucy Harper?
She's all right? How's Bob Fields? Oh? I don't care for
him now? She tossed her head. He kept up the play like Dave's
strong better? Eh, he's a softie he isn't. Oh, Guy,
I heard you had a new girl. New girl nothing? Don't care for
girls? Yes, you do, at least I think you do. Her
name's Margaret. The play ceased abruptly. Guy's face changed. Perhaps I do,
he murmured, while his sister watched him in the candlelight. She won't
answer yet, she asked, very gently, Not a word. You've cared
a good while, haven't you, dear? Seems like ages. Suppose it
isn't. No, only two years really caring? Hard, plenty of time
left. He moved his head impatiently. Yes, if I didn't mind seeing
her smile on Tommy Gower, Dal'll take him just as sweetly as she smiles
on me. If she ever held out the tip of her finger to me,
I'd seize it and hold on to it for fair. But she doesn't,
she won't. And she's going south next week for the rest of the
winter. And there's a fellow down there in South Carolina where she goes.
Oh, he he's red headed after her like the rest of us. And
well, I'm up against it, good and hard, Nan, And that's
the truth, poor boy. And you gave up going to see her on
Christmas Day and came down here into the country just to just to get even
with myself for the way I've neglected on these two years while my heads been
so full of her. It isn't there. After last year. I'd have
come home to day if it had meant I had to lose. Well,
Margaret knows i'm here. I don't know what she thinks. I don't believe
guy boy, she thinks the less of you. Yes, I must go.
It will all come right in the end, dear. I'm sure of
it. No, I don't know how Margaret feels. Good Night, good
night, Christmas morning breaking upon a wintry world, the star in the east
long set outside the house, a great silence of drift wrapped hill and plain
inside, a crackling fire, upon a wide hearth, and a pair of
elderly people waking to a lonely holiday. Missus Vernald crept to the door of
her room. The injured knee always made walking difficult. After night it's quiet.
She meant to sit down by the fire, which she had lately heard
Marietta stirring and feeding into activity, and warm herself at its flame. She
remembered with a sad little smile that she and John had hung their stockings there,
and looked to see what miracle had been wrought in the night father.
Her voice caught in her throat. What was all this? By some mysterious
influence? Her husband learned that she was calling him, though he had not
really heard. He came to the door and looked at her, then at
the chimney piece where the stockings hung, a long row of them, as
they had not hung since the children grew up. Stockings of quality, one
of brown silk NaN's a fine gray sock with scarlet clocks. Ralph's all stuffed
to the top, with bundles overflowing upon the chimney piece and even to the
floor below. What's this? What's this? John? Ernard's voice was puzzled.
Whose are these? He limped closer. He put on his spectacles and
stared hard at a parcel protruding from the sock with the scarlet clocks. Merry
Christmas to Ralph from Nan, he read, to Ralph, from Nan,
he repeated, vaguely. His gaze turned to his wife. His eyes were
wide like a child's. But she was getting to her feet from the chair
into which she had dropped the children. She was saying, they, they,
John, they must be here. He followed her through the chilly hall
to the front staircase, seldom used now, and up as rapidly as those
slow, stiff joints would allow. Trembling Missus Vernald pushed open the first door.
At the top, A rumpled brown head raised itself from among the pillows.
A pair of sleepy but affectionate brown eyes smiled back at the two faces
peering in, and a voice brimful of mirth cried softly Merry Christmas, Memmi
and Daddy. They stared at her, their eyes growing misty. It was
their little daughter Nan, not yet grown up. They could not believe it,
even when they had been to every room, had seen their big son
Ralph still sleeping, his yet youthful face full of healthy color pillowed on his
brawny arm, and his mother had gently kissed him awake to be half strangled
in his hug. When they had met Edson's hearty laugh as he fired a
pillow at them, carefully so that his father could catch it. When they
had seen plump pretty Carol putting on her stockings as she sat on the floor,
smiling up at them, Oliver advancing to meet them in his bathrobe and
slippers, Guy holding out both arms from above his blankets and shouting Merry Christmas,
and how do you like your children? Even then it was difficult to
realize that not one was missing, and no one else was there. Unconsciously,
missus Fernold found herself looking about for the sons, wise and daughter's husbands
and children. She loved them all yet to have her own, and no
others, just for this one day. It was happiness. Indeed, when
they were all downstairs about the fire. There was great rejoicing they had Marietta
in. Indeed, she had been hovering continuously in the background to the apparently
frightful jeopardy of the breakfast in preparation upon which nevertheless she had managed to keep
a practiced eye. And were you in it, Marietta, Mister Fernold said
to her, in astonishment when he first saw her, How in the world
did you get all these people into the house and to bed without waking us?
It was pretty considerable of a ResQue, Marietta replied, with modest pride,
seein as how they was inclined to be Midland lively. But I kept
a hushing'em up, and I filled em up so full of it victuals
they couldn't talk. I didn't know there be any eatables left for to day,
she added, which last remark, since she had been slyly baking for
a week, guy thought might be considered pure bluff. At the breakfast table,
while the eight heads were bent this thanksgiving a rose as the Master of
the house, in a voice not quite steady, offered it to one unseen
thou who camest to us on that first Christmas Day, we bless THEE for
this good and perfect gift. Thou sendest us to day, but thou forgettest
us not in these later years, but givest us the greatest joy of our
lives, in these our loyal children. NaN's hand clutched Guy's under the table.
Doesn't that make it worth it? His grasp said to her, and
hers replied with a frantic pressure, indeed it does, but we don't deserve
it. It was late in the afternoon, a tremendous Christmas dinner was all
over and the group scattered when Guy and his mother sat alone by the fire.
The boys had gone out to the great stock Barn with their father to
talk over with him every detail of the prosperous business he, with the help
of an invaluable assistant, was yet able to manage. Caroline and Nan had
ostensibly gone with them, but in reality the former was calling upon an old
friend of her childhood, and the latter had begged a horse and sleigh and
driven merrily away alone upon an errand she would tell no one but her mother,
Missus Fernald, sat in her low chair at one side of the hearth,
her son upon a cushion at her feet, his hand resting against her
knee. Her slender fingers were gently threading the thick locks of his hair as
she listened while he talked to her of everything in his life and at last,
the one thing he cared most about. Sometimes I get desperate and think
I may as well give her up for good and all, he was saying.
She's so so elusive. I don't know any other word for it.
I never can tell how I stand with her. She's going south next week.
I've asked her to answer me before she goes. Somehow I've clung to
the hope that I get my answer to day. You'll laugh, but I
left word with my office boy to wire me if a note or anything from
her came. It's four o'clock that I haven't heard she. You see,
I can't help thinking it's because she's going to turn me down and hates to
do it. Christmas Day, he turned suddenly and buried his face in his
mother's lap. His shoulders heaved a little in spite of himself. His mother's
hand caressed his head more tenderly than ever. But if he could have seen,
her eyes were very bright. They were silent for a long time.
Then Suddenly, a jingle of sleigh bells approached through the falling winter twilight,
drew near and stopped at the door. Guy's mother laid her hand upon his
shoulders. Son. She said, there's some one stopping now. Perhaps it's
the boy with a message from the station. He was on his feet in
an instant. Her eyes followed him as he rushed away through the hall.
Then she rose and quietly closed the sitting room door behind him. As Guy
flung open the front door, a tall and slender figure in gray furs and
a wide gray hat was coming up the walk. Eyes, whose glance had
long been his dearest torture, met Guy Fernauld's and fell lips like there were
no others in the world, smiled tremulously in response to his eager exclamation,
and over the piaguant young face rose an exquisite color which was not altogether born
of the wintry air. The girl, who for two years had been only
elusive, had taken the significant step of coming to northeaster de Brook in response
to an eloquent telephone message sent that more by Nan. Holding both her hands
fast, Guy led her up into the house and found himself alone with her
in the shadowy hall. With one gay shout, Nan had driven away toward
the barn. The inner doors were all closed. Blessing the wondrous sagacity of
his womankind. Guy took advantage of his moment. Nan brought you. I
see that. I know you're very fond of her. But you didn't come
wholly to please her, did you, Margaret? Not wholly? I've been
looking all day for my answer. I Oh, I wonder if he was
gathering courage from her aspect, which, for the first time in his experience,
failed to keep him at a distance. Dare I think you bring it?
She slowly lifted up her face. I thought it was so dear of
you. She murmured, to come home to your people instead of staying with
me. I thought you deserved what you say you want. Margaret. You
I haven't given you any Christmas present? Will I do? Will you do?
Oh? It was a great explosive sigh of relief and joy, and
as he gave vent to it, he caught her close. Will you do,
good Lord, I rather think you will Emmeline. Yes, John,
dear, you're not crying? Oh? No, no, no, John,
What a blessing deafness is sometimes the ear cannot detect the delicate tremolo,
which might tell the story too plainly, and in the darkness of the eye
cannot see. It's been a pretty nice day, hasn't it a beautiful day?
I guess there's no doubt. But the children care a good deal for
the old folks, yet, no doubt at all. Dear. It's good
to think they're all asleep under the roof once more, isn't it? And
one extra one? We like her, don't we? Oh? Very very
much. Yes, guy's done well. I always thought he'd get her if
he hung on. The Fernauld's always hang on. But Guy's got a mite
of a temper. I didn't know, but he might let it go a
little too soon. Well, it's great to think they all plan to spend
every Christmas Day with us, isn't it, Emeline? Yes, dear,
it's great. Well, I must let you go to sleep. It's been
a big day, and I guess you're tired. Emeline. We've not only
got each other, we've got the children too. That's a pretty happy thing
at our age, isn't it now? Yes? Yes, good night,
Christmas night, Emmeline, Good night. Dear and of on Christmas Day in
the morning by Grace S. Richmond