ather and mother were
mysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only one
parlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into the
kitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. Kitty was 'all
over the place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince-pies, and
puddings were with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no place
there for children and book; to sit with their toes in the fire, when
a body wanted to be at the oven all along. The cat was enough for
_her_ temper,' she added.

"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove her
out into the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with soft
steps, and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warm
hearth, only to fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's
hasty slipper.

"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, and
went to the back door.

"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in all
weathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl over
our two heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something of
Dick, for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy
helping his father to bore holes in the carved seats of the church,
which were to hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the idea
of church decoration in my young days. You have improved on your
elders there, young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still,
the sprigs of red and green were better than nothing, and, like your
lovely wreaths and pious devices, they made one feel as if the old
black wood were bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas
joy!

"And, if one only knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose,"
added Godfather Garbel, chuckling and rubbing his own, which was large
and rather red.

"Well," he continued, "Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ran
across the little yard and looked over the wall at the end to see if
we could see anything or anybody. From this point there was a pleasant
meadow field sloping prettily away to a little hill about
three-quarters of a mile distant; which, catching some fine breezes
from the moors beyond, was held to be a place of cure for
whooping-cough, or 'kinkcough,' as it was vulgarly called. Up to the
top of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty, when we were
recovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was the only
'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as w