but it isn't going to hurt any more," Hannah insisted.

"Come on up-stairs to bed."

Still Hannah hung back. She had not played her trump card yet, and the
time was short. She caught her mother's slim white hand in hers and
fingered nervously at the rings. "Mama," she almost whispered, "Virginia
says it's Jewish mamas' fault that Santy Claus don't come to see Jewish
children. If the mamas would just go to Santy and _tell_ him to
come--You will, won't you, Mama? _Please, Mama!_"

"Hannah, not another word about Christmas and Santy
Claus--not--another--word!"

Hannah swallowed something that came in her throat, and bravely winked
back her tears. "Can't Mandy put me to bed?"

"No, dear; Mandy is busy in the kitchen. Mama will put you to bed and
tell you stories." She bent down and kissed the child tenderly.

Hannah flung her arms about her mother's neck. She loved the feel of the
soft throat and the gently curving bosom against her little cheek, and
the fragrance of her mother's hair and silken laces. She didn't know
that her mother looked like a portrait by Raphael, but she did know that
her mama was the prettiest, sweetest mama in all the world; and yet--

"Mama, I'm so tired of stories about the children of Israel. They never
did anything funny. Mandy tells me tales about the old plantashun, when
her ma was a slave, and about ole Marse, and ole Mis' going to town and
giving Santy Claus money so's he'd bring beads and 'juice' harps and
things to the little niggers; and he never forgot one, from the biggest
to the littlest darky, Santy didn't."

The child's body began to tremble with repressed sobs. "I--I wisht I was
a--a little darky! It's--it's awful--sad to be a little Jewish child at
Chris'mus time."

And then the storm broke.

Two hours later Eli Joseph's tired step sounded on the veranda, and Rose
hurried to admit him, lifting a silencing hand as soon as he had crossed
the threshold. "Hannah has just gone to sleep," she whispered. "No--no,
she's not sick at all." He placed an arm around her and drew her into
the library.

"Eli, your overcoat is wet," she exclaimed, untwining her arms from his
neck.

"Snow," he said, his good-looking boyish face lighting up with pleasure.
"It seems we are to have a white Christmas after all."

"Christmas!" she cried; "I wish I could never hear that word again."

"Well, I'm glad it comes only once a year. To-night ends my siege,
though. To-morrow night Stein goes on d