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Then quite abruptly she laughed aloud. "Oh you can't scare me any more, you gloomy old Rattle-Pane House!" she laughed. "You're not deserted now! People are Christmasing in you! Whether you like it or not you're being Christmased!" Very tentatively she puckered her lips to a whistle. Almost instantly from the darkness ahead a dog's bark rang out, deep, sonorous, faintly suspicious.
And a freshly 'burgled' house is rather a creepy place for a young girl to return to all alone.... Your parents are away, I believe?" "Con stable ... constable," babbled Flame quite idiotically. "Yes, the regular constable was off Christmasing somewhere it seems, so he put a substitute on his job, a stranger from somewhere. Some substitute that!
I wouldn't stir up the business and get a bad name for the sake of living with her for all that about your play-acting is sure to come out, you know, although you think otherwise. My eyes and limbs, there'll be a racket if you go back just now in the middle of Boldwood's Christmasing!" "H'm, yes.
From a pedestal of boxes fairly bulging with red-wheeled go-carts, one keen young elbow rammed for balance into a gay glassy shelf of stick-candy, green tissue garlands tickling across her cheek, she sped the message to her mother. "O Mother-Funny!" triumphed Flame. "I've found out who's Christmasing at the Rattle-Pane House! It's a red-haired setter dog with one black ear!
I wouldn't stir up the business and get a bad name for the sake of living with her for all that about your play-acting is sure to come out, you know, although you think otherwise. My eyes and limbs, there'll be a racket if you go back just now in the middle of Bold- wood's Christmasing!" "H'm, yes.
"Come along with me." "Can't do it. Where are yu' goin'?" "Christmasing," replied Fate. "Well, I've got to feed my horse. Christmasing, yu' say?" "Yes; I'm buying toys." "Toys! You? What for?" "Oh, some kids." "Yourn?" screeched Lin, precipitately.
"You are always so horridly right! Lopsy and Beautiful-Lovely and Blunder-Blot are not Christmasing all alone in the Rattle-Pane House! There is a man with them! Don't tell Father, he's so nervous about men!" "A man?" stammered her Mother. "Oh I hope not a young man! Where did he come from?" "Oh I don't think he came at all," confided Flame. It was Flame who was perplexed this time.
"Impossible!" exclaimed old Mr. King, pulling out his watch. "Er bless me! the boy is right. Now, Polly, my child, you and I must put off our engagement till afternoon. Then we'll have our Christmasing!" "Grandpapa," cried Phronsie, flying down the platform, "the box of dolls isn't here!" "Goodness me!" exclaimed old Mr.
There is a prayer some one prayed once one tired New Year's Eve, which appeals to me. "Forgive me my Christmases as I forgive them that have Christmased against me." I could pray the same model outline for a prayer. But for Christmasing, substitute propagandy-izing. The word somehow itself in its own unconscious beauty dramatizes the way I feel about it.
They are used to having everything, and as joy dwells in novelty it has ceased to be for them in Christmas gifts and giving and all manner of Christmas conventions. But for the young to whom these things are new, and for the poor to whom they are rare, Christmas and Christmasing are sources of perennial happiness.
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