istmas week came, Christmas Eve came. My father and mother were
mysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only one
parlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into the
kitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. Kitty was 'all over
the place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince pies, and puddings were
with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no place there for children
and books to sit with their toes in the fire, when a body wanted to be
at the oven all along. The cat was enough for HER temper,' she added.

"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove her out
into the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with soft steps,
and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warm hearth, only to
fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's hasty slipper.

"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, and
went to the back door.

"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in all
weathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl over our
two heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something of Dick,
for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy helping his
father to bore holes in the carved seats of the church, which were
to hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the idea of church
decoration in my young days. You have improved on your elders there,
young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still, the sprigs of
red and green were better than nothing, and, like your lovely wreaths
and pious devices, they made one feel as if the old black wood were
bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas joy; and, if only
one knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose.

"Well, Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ran across the little yard
and looked over the wall at the end to see if we could see anything
or anybody. From this point there was a pleasant meadow field sloping
prettily away to a little hill about three quarters of a mile distant;
which, catching some fine breezes from the moors beyond, was held to
be a place of cure for whooping-cough, or kincough, as it was vulgarly
called. Up to the top of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty,
when we were recovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was
the only 'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as well
as if we had gone into badly drained lodgings at the seaside.

"This