las was off on his ride,
galloping over the roof-tops, and knocking at every chimney-top that
had a knocker, just getting through at day dawn with the deal he had
to do. The "eight tiny reindeer" had barely trotted him out of sight,
when thousands of little children in thousands of homes began hopping
out of bed to look in their stockings.

The Christmas morning was breaking in joy and gladness, as if the dear
Christ Child of eighteen hundred years ago were newly born that day.
Little children, and old men, and maidens waked to give good gifts and
greetings to each other, remembering whom the good Father in heaven
had given to them on that first glad Christmas morn.

In an attic in Bone Court, Mike Slattery, wildly staring about him,
bolted up in bed, waked by big Winnie, and little Pat, and Jimmy
roaring "Merry Christmas" in his ears.

"Oop, Mike, an' tak' a look at Winnie's Christmas fixin's foreninst
yer two eyes," piped Jimmy, flapping the little breeches he was too
excited to put on at the little pine branches stuck up thickly in the
window.

"Isn't yer fut that better ye might hobble up to see what the good
gintleman--him as brought ye home--left behind for yees and us
arl--the Christmas things, ye'll mind?" inquired Winnie, combing her
tangled auburn locks, and stooping compassionately over Mike.

"There's the big burhd for yees," cackled little Pat, staggering up to
the bedside with a goose hugged to his bosom.

"Hooray!" cried Mike, swinging his pillow; "that thafe of a chap
didn't do us out of our Christmas dinner, thin. Here's a go beyant
mutton and onions."

"Blissid be thim as saysonably remimbers the poor," sniffed Mrs.
Slattery, who was down on her hands and knees washing up the broken
bit of hearth under the stove.

"That's so," chimed in the little Slatterys; and then they all fell
again to admiring the goose.

The sun had climbed a long way up the sky, and was just looking in
through the pine branches in the Slatterys' window, when a little
golden head, surmounted by a blue velvet hat, looked in through the
Slatterys' door.

"Merry Christmas. May I come in?"

Pat looked at Jim, and Jim looked at Mike, and all three,
open-mouthed, looked at the little golden head in the doorway.

"I just came in to bring you some pretty story books of mine, and a
cap of brother Jack's, and a nice new pair of shoes for Mike. How do
you do, Mike, this morning? Papa--he's the doctor who brought you
home, M