Speaker 1: 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