set him down, his hands full of sugar-cake, asked him, "Whose bright
little five-year-old is this? What is your name, blue eyes?" "Bobbie
Nilkinson," was the answer. It went right to the Colonel's heart. "It
is Christmas," said he; "and the dear Jesus himself said, 'Suffer little
children to come unto me.' Well, well, he said something to us old
folks, too: 'If thy brother trespass against thee,' &c., and 'If thou
bring thy gift to the altar, and there remember that thy brother hath
aught against thee, leave there thy gift before the altar; first be
reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.'" He walked
about awhile, thinking, and then found his neighbor. "Mr. Wilkinson,"
said he, "it is bad enough that you and I should quarrel in law, but let
us be friends in the gospel. As I looked at your little boy, and held
him up in my arms, and found out whose son he was, I felt ashamed that I
had ever quarreled with his father. Here is my hand, if you think fit
to take it." "With all my heart," said Wilkinson. "I fear I was more to
blame than you. But we can't help the past; let us make amends for the
future. I hope we shall have many a merry Christmas together in this
world and the next. Perhaps Uncle Nathan can settle our land-quarrel
better than any jury in Worcester county."

Mr. Smith, the Know-nothing representative, was struck with the bright
face of one of the little girls who wore a school-medal, and asked her
name. "Bridget O'Brien, your honor," was the answer. "Well, well," said
he, "I guess Uncle Nathan is half right; 'it's all prejudice.' I don't
like the Irish, _politically_. But after all, the Pope will have to
make a pretty long arm to reach round Aunt Kindly, and clear through the
Union School-house and spoil Miss Bridget,--a pretty long arm to do all
that."

So it went on all round the room. "That is what I call the Christian
Sacrament," said Deacon Jackson to Captain Weldon. "Ah, yes," replied
the blacksmith; "it is a feast of love. Look there; Colonel Stearns and
John Wilkinson have not spoken for years. Now it is all made up. Both
have forgotten that little strip of Beaver-gray meadow, which has
cost them so much money and hard words and in itself is not worth the
lawyer's fees."

How the children played! how they all did dance! And of the whole
sportive company not one footed the measure so neat as little Hattie
Tidy, the black man's daughter. "What a shame to enslave a race of such
per