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A young man stood in the open doorway of the cabin, washing dishes, and as I passed he kindly wished me a "Merry Christmas," inviting me on board. He eagerly inspected the sneak-box, and pronounced it one of the prettiest "tricks" afloat. "How my father and brother would like to see you and your boat!" exclaimed he. "Can't you tie up here, just under yonder p'int on the bank?
Bill seemed to be laughing, but I observed that her handkerchief had the centre of the stage in this little comedy. "In half a minute I stole down the road an' picked up the bells that lay beside it, an' came prancin' to the door with a great jingle, an' in I went an' took my stand by the Christmas tree. We could hear the hurry of small feet, an' eager, half-hushed voices in the hall overhead.
"I am your friend, Cornelia; I will always be such; but every soul must be sufficient for itself. Do not look to me; lean upon your own nature; it will suffice for all its needs." With the young teacher, pity was almost synonymous with contempt; and, as she looked at the joyless face of her companion, she could not avoid thinking her miserably weak. Christmas Day was sunny and beautiful.
He made every boy and girl sign a petition, asking the Sunday-school teachers not to give them any nuts or candy. They all signed except Tommy Puffer. He said it was real mean not to have any candy. They might just as well not have any Sunday-school, or any Christmas either.
The house was lighted from attic to basement, and though it was Christmas Eve, the air was like spring, for nature sometimes turns freakish, and smiles on us when we are expecting the cold shoulder.
And you can't give him a Christmas and every other of our children not have any just because we're their parents and still living. There ain't a thing to do." Mis' Winslow's eyes were still on her overshoes. "I don't believe there's never 'not a thing' to do," she said, "I don't believe it." Mis' Bates looked scandalized. "That's nonsense," she said sharply, "and it's sacrilegious besides.
"Goodness me, Alexia, I should think you did spill this frost. Why didn't you go over more ground?" "I don't believe we can save one bit," mourned Alexia, peering up the stair-length, each step sparkling with myriad little frosty gems, as if Jack Frost himself had sprinkled it with a Christmas hand. "Oh, dear, why did you come in with such a noise, Joe Pepper?"
On the Sunday, after dinner, I took a two-oared gondola, and went round the island of Muran to reconnoitre the shore, and to discover the small door through which my mistress escaped from the convent. I lost my trouble and my time, for I did not become acquainted with the shore till the octave of Christmas, and with the small door six months afterwards.
"It will probably be a month before we can get a new boiler, and until then there will be no more school," he said. "The children will have another vacation." "A vacation so near Christmas," murmured Mrs. Bobbsey. "I wonder what I can do with my twins?" Just then the telephone rang, and Mrs. Bobbsey listened. It was Mr. Bobbsey telephoning.
The dull, gray, leaden sky was as sharp a contrast with the crisp, bracing sharpness of a Northern Christmas morning, as our beggarly little ration of saltless corn meal was to the sumptuous cheer that loaded the dinner-tables of our Northern homes.
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