and the sun shone with
dazzling brightness on road and roof. Working industriously with our
broad wooden shovels to clear a path from the porch to the street, I
stole a glance next door. I was rather glum, I remember, to discover no
sign of life, and later, over hot whisky, we debated whether we were
really well enough acquainted to give presents. It is a habit of ours,
however, very hard to break. Our idea is to give something which the
recipient will like, and this involves thought, which is the essence and
true spirit of giving. Some days before I had been despatched to
Chinatown for the express purpose of buying coloured tops, snakes and
kites. Bill had made Indian suits for the boys, and Mac had returned
from the stores with a coasting sled, and a small pair of roller
skates. Miss Fraenkel was to have a copy of Spenser's _Faery Queen_
bound by us in blue leather and stamped with an original design. As Bill
often says, we can make anything in the world except money. Curiously
enough, it seems to me now, we forgot Mr. Carville. Perhaps that too
helps to describe him, for he gave me the impression of being so utterly
complete in himself, so very independent of the trivial human weaknesses
and needs on which Christmas essentially depends, that a present to him
was out of the question. We did not envy him this position. We simply
forgot him in the general rush of seasonable sentiment, and put
ourselves to all sorts of delightful inconvenience in discovering what
his family would like. And when, later in the forenoon, as we were
sitting round the studio stove, we heard a clatter of skates in the
porch, and a single knock, as though some small person had stood
atip-toe to reach the Canterbury Pilgrim, I am not ashamed to say we
went down in a body to open the door. Messrs. Giuseppe Mazzini and
Benvenuto Cellini stood without, the former with his sled over his
shoulder, both muffled to the chin, their red cheeks and bright eyes
beautiful to behold.

"Hullo!" I said. "Now, where did you get those?"

Benvenuto looked down critically at the new leather straps of the
skates.

"Ma says," began Beppo, as though reciting a lesson, "Ma says, we thank
you very much for the things and"--he glanced at his brother, who was
watching him--"and we wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Thank you. Same to you," we said, filling the doorway. "Where are you
going now?"

"Pine Street," said Beppo.

"Skates not much use now, eh?"

"Oh, he'