first time in his life, maybe, the alert reporter was taken
off guard, and hadn't a word to say, except the very ordinary one of
"Thank you"; but he said it, bending over the lady's hand, and with
such an expression of delight upon his thin, intellectual face, that
no greater eloquence was needed.

"And now," said Aunt Sally, "it's time to begin that there decorating
which Gabriell' thinks is a part of Christmas. Pasqually's been real
good. He's been up to the dreen, where you planted them calla lilies,
Jessie, and he's fetched a good many bushels. Seven hundred, I guess
he said. And he's cut poinsetty enough to turn us blind with its
redness; and my boy, John, hitched up and went along under the flume
and druv his pushcart back full of the biggest maidenhair ferns and
sweet brakes I ever see. So now, youngsters, set to and trim. Then
we'll hang up our stockings, every one; and I'll give you the nicest
Christmas dinner can be cooked, if I have to cuff Wun Lungy into
basting them turkeys as they ought to be basted. Come, Neddy; come,
little Echo; I saw Santy Claus' wife--that's me, shove a pan full of
gingerbread men into the wall oven, and if they're done, I'll give
each of you a soldier of dough to drive you to bed. Stockings first?
Of course, of course. Why, what would Christmas be without its
stockings? Here's a brand-new pair auntie's knit for you, one a piece;
and if you don't find 'em stuffed with rods in the morning, it won't
be because you don't deserve it, you precious, precious, naughty
little lambs!"

Off went the good creature, a boy on either arm, her patchwork
streaming behind her, her spectacles on the top of her head, and her
ruddy countenance as beaming as if she were, indeed, that mythical
person--Santa Claus' wife.

Oh! what a Christmas followed! With everybody from far and near who
had any claim upon Sobrante hastening thither to share its open
hospitalities; Wolfgang and Elsa, with their "little" six-foot son;
the genial McLeods, Dr. Kimball and his sweet-faced invalid sister,
Louise, for whose benefit he had left their fine Boston home to live
in this lonely, lovely southland. These, and many more, not only came,
but did such justice to Mrs. Benton's and Wan Lung's cookery that, as
she said, next morning:

"Land suz! There ain't scraps enough left to make a decent soup, even!
But never mind, we had a royal time, every single soul of us.
Christmas is over, and I'm glad it's so well over. Now, w