chickens were crowing in the morning there would be an answering
twitter through the house, and with a patter of little feet and subdued
laughter small, white-clad figures would steal through the dim light of
dusky rooms and cold passages, opening doors with sudden bursts, and
shouting "Christmas gift!" into darkened chambers, at still sleeping
elders. Then they would scurry away in the gray light to rake open the
hickory embers and revel in the exploration of their bulging,
overcrowded stockings. Not Columbus was to be envied when those
discoveries were being made. What was a new world to those treasures!
The thrill of the new jack-knife remains after forty years--it had four
blades, each worth a province. Envy Columbus? Perish the thought!

Such was Christmas morning at Holly Hill in the old times before the
war--those times of Memory and Romance.

Thus it was that at Christmas, 1863, when the blockading lines were
drawn close and there were no new toys to be had for love or money,
there were much disappointment and some murmurs at Holly Hill. The
children had never really felt the war until then, though their father,
Major Stafford, had been off, first with his company and then with his
regiment, since April, 1861. War was on the whole a pleasant
experience to the boys--so many strangers came by. Battles were so
interesting, and there was a bare chance of their seeing one, in which
Bob was to lead a charge and capture the commanding General.

But when Christmas came and there were no presents, no "real" presents,
war was realized. It was a terrible thing. From Mrs. Stafford down to
little tot Evelyn there was an absence of the merriment which Christmas
always brought with it. The children's mother had done all she could
to collect such presents as were within her reach, but the youngsters
were much too sharp not to know that the presents were "just fixed up";
and when they were all gathered around the fire in their mother's
chamber that Christmas morning, looking over their presents, their
little faces wore an expression of pathetic disappointment.

"I don't think much of _this_ Christmas," announced freckled Ran, with
characteristic gravity, looking down on his poor presents with an air
of contempt. "A hatchet, a lot of old nails, and a hare-trap aren't
much."

Mrs. Stafford smiled, but the smile soon died away into an expression
of sadness.

"I too have to do without my Christmas gift," she said.