Elise, as white as white could be; and it was a
long time before she was able to speak. As soon as she could sit up,
she wished to get out into the open air.

Mrs. Livingston went with her, and when she was told what had been
seen at the window, they together examined the freshly fallen snow and
found traces of moccasined feet.

With fear and trembling, the two ladies entered the house. Not a word
of what had been seen was spoken to servant or child. Aunt Elise from
an upper window kept watch during the time that Mrs. Livingston
returned thanks to God for the happy day the children had passed, and
asked His love and protecting care during the silent hours of sleep.

Then the sleepy, happy throng climbed the wide staircase to the rooms
above, went to bed and slept until morning.

Not a red face approached Fort Safety that night. The two ladies,
letting the Christmas fires go down, kept watch from the windows until
the day dawned.

"I'm so glad," exclaimed Carl, "that my fine, old, greatest of
grandmothers thought of having that good time at Christmas."

"Dear me!" sighed Bessie, "if she hadn't, we wouldn't have this nice
home to-day."

"Mamma," said Dot, "let's have a good stocking-time next Christmas;
just like that one, all but the Indians."

"O, mamma, _will you_?" cried Bessie, jumping with glee.

"Where _would_ we get the soldiers' children, though," questioned
Carl.

"Lots of 'em in Russia and Turkey, if we only lived there," observed
Bessie. "But there's _always_ plenty of children that _want_ a good
time and never get it, just as much as the soldiers' children did.
Will you, mamma?"

"When Christmas comes again, I will try to make just as many little
folks happy as I can," said Mrs. Livingston.

"And we'll begin _now_," said Carl, "so as to be all ready. I shall
saw all summer, so as to make lots of pretty brackets and things."

"And I s'pose I shall have to dress about five hundred dolls to go
'round," sighed Bessie, "there are so many children now-a-days."

A DAY AND A NIGHT IN THE OLD PORTER HOUSE.

Monday morning, July 5th, 1779, was oppressively warm and sultry in
the Naugatuck Valley. Great Hill, that rises so grandly to the
northward of Union City, and at whose base the red house still nestles
that was built either by Daniel Porter or his son Thomas before or as
early as 1735, was bathed in the full sunlight, for it was past eight
of the clock. Up the hill had just passed a herd