will come if he possibly can," says Mrs. Tracy; "and if he cannot,
we will keep Christmas whenever dear papa does come home."

"It won't be half so nice," said Kitty, "nothing's so nice as REALLY
Christmas, and how's Kriss Kringle going to know about it if we change
the day?"

"We'll let him come just the same, and if he brings anything for papa we
can put it away for him."

This plan, still, seemed a poor one to Miss Kitty, who went to her
bed in a sober mood that night, and was heard telling her dear dollie,
Martha Washington, that "wars were mis'able, and that when she married
she should have a man who kept a candy-shop for a husband, and not a
soldier--no, Martha, not even if he's as nice as papa!" As Martha made
no objection to this little arrangement, being an obedient child, they
were both soon fast asleep. The days of that cold winter of 1776 wore
on; so cold it was that the sufferings of the soldiers were great, their
bleeding feet often leaving marks on the pure white snow over which they
marched. As Christmas drew near there was a feeling among the patriots
that some blow was about to be struck; but what it was, and from whence
they knew not; and, better than all, the British had no idea that any
strong blow could come from Washington's army, weak and out of heart, as
they thought, after being chased through Jersey by Cornwallis.

Mrs. Tracy looked anxiously each day for news of the husband and father
only a few miles away, yet so separated by the river and the enemy's
troops that they seemed like a hundred. Christmas Eve came, but brought
with it few rejoicings. The hearts of the people were too sad to be
taken up with merrymaking, although the Hessian soldiers in the town,
good-natured Germans, who only fought the Americans because they were
paid for it, gave themselves up to the feasting and revelry.

"Shall we hang up our stockings?" asked Kitty, in rather a doleful
voice.

"Yes," said her mother, "Santa Claus won't forget you, I am sure,
although he has been kept pretty busy looking after the soldiers this
winter."

"Which side is he on?" asked Harry.

"The right side, of course," said Mrs. Tracy, which was the most
sensible answer she could possibly have given. So:

"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St.
Nicholas soon would be there."

Two little rosy faces lay fast asleep upon the pillow when the good old
soul came dashing over the roof about one o'clock, and a