m and took up a newspaper. By and by, Harry and Polly
came in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own
affairs in a corner.

The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top
of his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, my
boy!"

And Harry came up to him.

"Show me your tongue, Harry," said he.

"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor."

"Do as I tell you," said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw
his hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The
hot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said, in depressed tones; "I
thought so!--Polly, come and let me look at yours."

Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the
hot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.

"What is it?" cried both the children. "What do you mean?" And they
seized the tips of their tongues with their fingers, to feel for
themselves.

But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without
answering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, "Ah! Hum!"
and nodding with an air of grave foreboding.

Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head
into the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing
pointed?" he asked.

"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"

"If ever you find them becoming forked," said the gentleman in solemn
tones, "let me know."

With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.

In the afternoon the children attacked him again.

"_Do_ tell us what's the matter with our tongues."

"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning," said
the hot-tempered gentleman.

"Well, we forgot," said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. But
never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going
to happen to them?"

"I'm very much afraid," said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn
measured tones, "that you are both of you--fast--going--to--the--"

"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.

"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his
hair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless
all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my sad
fear is, that you are both of you--rapidly--going--_to the
Snap-Dragons_!"

And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the
subject.

CHRISTMAS EVE.

In the course of