  "Tell sweet old tales, Sing songs as we sit bending o'er the hearth, Till the lamp flickers and the memory fails." Frederick Tennyson. THE HALLOWED TIME.Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallowed and so gracious is the time. Shakespeare. ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious form, that light insufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of majesty, Wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant-God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, And all the spangled host kept watch in squadron bright? See, how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet; O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel-quire, From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. THE HYMN.It was the winter wild, While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to him, Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw; Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready Harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And, waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes an universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around; The idle spear and shield were high up-hung; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And, though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need. He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear. Or e'er the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal fingers strook; Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took; The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature that heard such sound, Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-faced night array'd; The helmed cherubim, And sworded seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music as, 'tis said, Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow, Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of gold, And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould, And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. But wisest Fate says No, This must not yet be so; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify: The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep; With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbreak: The aged earth aghast With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for, from this happy day, The Old Dragon, under ground In straighter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale, Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn, The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets, mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and BaÄlim Forsake their temples dim, And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbrell'd anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Judah's land The dreaded Infant's hand, Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine; Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling-bands control the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest teemed star Hath fix'd her polished car, Her sleeping Lord, with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. John Milton. THE FIRST ROMAN CHRISTMAS.It was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars, Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. 'Twas in the calm and silent night! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lonely revel rolling home. Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away In the solemn midnight Centuries ago? Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable-door, Told what was going on within. How keen the stars! his only thought; The air how calm, and cold, and thin! In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. O strange indifference! Low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares; The earth was still, but knew not why; The world was listening unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. It is the calm and solemn night! A thousand bells ring out and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness, charmed, and holy now! The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given; For in that stable lay, new-born, The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. Alfred H. Domett. THE THREE DAMSELS.(SUGGESTED BY A DRAWING OF DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI'S.)Three damsels in the queen's chamber, The queen's mouth was most fair; She spake a word of God's mother As the combs went in her hair. Mary that is of might, Bring us to thy Son's sight. They held the gold combs out from her A span's length off her head; She sang this song of God's mother And of her bearing-bed. Mary most full of grace, Bring us to thy Son's face. When she sat at Joseph's hand, She looked against her side; And either way from the short silk band Her girdle was all wried. Mary that all good may, Bring us to thy Son's way. Mary had three women for her bed, The twain were maidens clean; The third had riven green. Mary that is so sweet, Bring us to thy Son's feet. She had three women for her hair, Two were gloved soft and shod; The third had feet and fingers bare, She was the likest God. Mary that wieldeth land, Bring us to thy Son's hand. She had three women for her ease, The twain were good women; The first two were the two Maries, The third was Magdalen. Mary that perfect is, Bring us to thy Son's kiss. Joseph had three workmen in his stall, To serve him well upon; The first of them were Peter and Paul, The third of them was John. Mary, God's handmaiden, Bring us to thy Son's ken. "If your child be none other man's, But if it be very mine, The bed-foot silver fine." Mary that made God mirth, Bring us to thy Son's birth. "If the child be some other man's, And if it be none of mine, The manger shall be straw two spans, Betwixen kine and kine." Mary that made sin cease, Bring us to thy Son's peace. Christ was born upon this wise: It fell on such a night, Neither with sounds of psalteries, Nor with fire for light. Mary that is God's spouse, Bring us to thy Son's house. The star came out upon the east With a great sound and sweet: Kings gave gold to make him feast And myrrh for him to eat. Mary of thy sweet mood, Bring us to thy Son's good. He had two handmaids at his head, One handmaid at his feet; The third one was right sweet. Mary that is most wise, Bring us to thy Son's eyes. Amen. Algernon Charles Swinburne. KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. HALBERT AND HOB.Here is a thing that happened. Like wild beasts whelped, for den, In a wild part of North England, there lived once two wild men, Inhabiting one homestead, neither a hovel nor hut, Time out of mind their birthright: father and son, these,—but,— Such a son, such a father! Most wildness by degrees Softens away: yet, last of their line, the wildest and worst were these. Criminals, then? Why, no: they did not murder and rob; But give them a word, they returned a blow,—old Halbert as young Hob: Harsh and fierce of word, rough and savage of deed, Hated or feared the more—who knows?—the genuine wild-beast breed. Thus were they found by the few sparse folk of the country-side; In a growling, grudged agreement: so father son lay curled The closelier up in their den because the last of their kind in the world. Still, beast irks beast on occasion. One Christmas night of snow, Came father and son to words—such words! more cruel because the blow To crown each word was wanting, while taunt matched gibe, and curse Competed with oath in wager, like pastime in hell,—nay, worse: For pastime turned to earnest, as up there sprang at last The son at the throat of the father, seized him, and held him fast. "Out of this house you go!"—there followed a hideous oath— "This oven where now we bake, too hot to hold us both! If there's snow outside, there's coolness: out with you, bide a spell In the drift, and save the sexton the charge of a parish shell!" Untouched at the core by a thousand years: much less had its seventy broke One whipcord nerve in the muscly mass from neck to shoulder-blade Of the mountainous man, whereon his child's rash hand like a feather weighed. Nevertheless at once did the mammoth shut his eyes, Drop chin to breast, drop hands to sides, stand stiffened,—arms and thighs All of a piece—struck mute, much as a sentry stands, Patient to take the enemy's fire: his captain so commands. Whereat the son's wrath flew to fury at such sheer scorn Of his puny strength by the giant eld thus acting the babe new-born: And "Neither will this turn serve!" yelled he. "Out with you! Trundle, log! If you cannot tramp and trudge like a man, try all-fours like a dog!" Still the old man stood mute. So, logwise,—down to floor Was he pushed, a very log, staircase along, until A certain turn in the steps was reached, a yard from the house-door sill. Then the father opened his eyes,—each spark of their rage extinct,— Temples, late black, dead-blanched, right-hand with left-hand linked,— He faced his son submissive; when slow the accents came, They were strangely mild though his son's rash hand on his neck lay all the same. "Halbert, on such a night of a Christmas long ago, For such a cause, with such a gesture, did I drag—so— My father down thus far: but, softening here, I heard A voice in my heart, and stopped: you wait for an outer word. "For your own sake, not mine, soften you too! Untrod Leave this last step we reach, nor brave the finger of God! Nor praise you. I stopped here: Halbert, do you the same!" Straightway the son relaxed his hold of the father's throat. They mounted, side by side, to the room again: no note Took either of each, no sign made each to either: last As first, in absolute silence, their Christmas-night they passed. At dawn, the father sate on, dead, in the selfsame place, With an outburst blackening still the old bad fighting-face: But the son crouched all a-tremble like any lamb new-yeaned. When he went to the burial, some one's staff he borrowed,—tottered and leaned. But his lips were loose, not locked,—kept muttering, mumbling. "There! At his cursing and swearing!" the youngsters cried; but the elders thought, "In prayer." So tottered, muttered, mumbled he, till he died, perhaps found rest. "Is there a reason in nature for these hard hearts?" O Lear, That a reason out of nature must turn them soft, seems clear! Robert Browning. GOOD KING WENCESLAS.Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even; Brightly shone the moon that night, Tho' the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gathering winter fuel. "Hither, page, and stand by me, If thou know'st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?" "Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By Saint Agnes' fountain." "Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither: Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither." Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together Thro' the rude wind's wild lament And the bitter weather. And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer." "Mark my footsteps, good my page; Tread thou in them boldly: Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly." In his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the saint had printed. Therefore, Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing. Translated from the Latin, by J. M. Neale. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST.Three kings went riding from the East Through fine weather and wet; "And whither shall we ride," they said, "Where we ha' not ridden yet?" "And whither shall we ride," they said, "To find the hidden thing That times the course of all our stars And all our auguring?" They were the Wise Men of the East, And none so wise as they; "Alas!" the King of Persia cried, "And must ye ride away? "Yet since ye go a-riding, sirs, I pray ye, ride for me, And carry me my golden gifts To the King o' Galilee. "Go riding into Palestine, A long ride and a fair!" "'Tis well!" the Mages answered him, "As well as anywhere!" The stars came out on high,— "And, oh!" said King Balthazar, As he gazed into the sky, "We ride by day, we ride by night, To a King in Galilee; We leave a king in Persia, And kings no less are we. "Yet often in the deep blue night, When stars burn far and dim, I wish I knew a greater King, To fall and worship him. "A king who should not care to reign, But wonderful and fair; A king—a king that were a star Aloft in miles of air!" "A star is good," said Melchior, "A high, unworldly thing; But I would choose a soul alive To be my Lord and King. "Not Herod, nay, nor Cyrus, nay, Not any king at all; For I would choose a new-born child Laid in a manger-stall." "For mighty men are ye; But no such humble king were meet For my simplicity. "A star is small and very far, A babe's a simple thing; The very Son of God himself Shall be my Lord and King!" Then smiled the King Balthazar; "A good youth!" Melchior cried; And young and old, without a word, Along the hills they ride, Till, lo! among the western skies There grows a shining thing— "The star! Behold the star," they shout; "Behold Balthazar's King!" And, lo! within the western skies The star begins to flit; The three kings spur their horses on, And follow after it. And when they reach the king's palace, They cry, "Behold the place!" But, like a shining bird, the star Flits on in heaven apace. Till they reached a lonely wold, Where shepherds keep their flocks by night, And the night was chill and cold. Oh they rode on, and on they rode, Till they reach a little town, And there the star in heaven stands still Above a stable brown. The town is hardly a village, The stable's old and poor, But there the star in heaven stands still Above the stable door. And through the open door, the straw And the tired beasts they see; And the Babe, laid in a manger, That sleepeth peacefully. "All hail, the King of Melchior!" The three Wise Men begin; King Melchior swings from off his horse, And he would have entered in. But why do the horses whinny and neigh? And what thing fills the night With wheeling spires of angels, And streams of heavenly light? And hover in a ring, And "Glory be to God on high And peace on earth," they sing. King Melchior kneels upon the grass And falls a-praying there; Balthazar lets the bridle drop, And gazes in the air. But Casper gives a happy shout, And hastens to the stall; "Now, hail!" he cries, "thou Son of God, And Saviour of us all." A. Mary F. Robinson. CHRISTMAS AT SEA.The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand; The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea; And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee. They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day; But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay. We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout, And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about. All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North; All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth; All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, For very life and nature, we tacked from head to head. But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard; So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high, And the coast-guard in his garden, with his glass against his eye. The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home; The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about. The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer; For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year) This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn, And the house above the coast-guard's was the house where I was born. Oh, well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there, And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves, Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves. And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household, and the son that went to sea; And, oh, the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day. They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. "All hands to loose topgallant sails!" I heard the captain call. "By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried. ... "It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied. She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good, And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood. We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light. And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me, As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea; But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold, Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old. Robert Louis Stevenson. "LAST CHRISTMAS WAS A YEAR AGO."(THE OLD LADY SPEAKS.)Last Christmas was a year ago Says I to David, I-says-I, "We're goin' to mornin' service, so You hitch up right away: I'll try To tell the girls jes what to do Fer dinner. We'll be back by two." I didn't wait to hear what he Would more'n like say back to me, But banged the stable-door and flew Back to the house, jes plumb chilled through. Cold! Wooh! how cold it was! My-oh! Frost flyin', and the air, you know— "Jes sharp enough," heerd David swear, "To shave a man and cut his hair!" And blow and blow! and snow and SNOW, Where it had drifted 'long the fence And 'crost the road,—some places, though, Jes swep' clean to the gravel, so The goin' was as bad fer sleighs As 't was fer wagons,—and both ways, 'Twixt snow-drifts and the bare ground, I've Jes wondered we got through alive; I hain't saw nothin' 'fore er sence Last Christmas was a year ago. And David said, as we set out, 'At Christmas services was 'bout As cold and wuthless kind o' love To offer up as he knowed of; And, as fer him, he railly thought 'At the Good Bein' up above Would think more of us—as he ought— A-stayin' home on sich a day And thankin' of him thataway. And jawed on in an undertone, 'Bout leavin' Lide and Jane alone There on the place, and me not there To oversee 'em, and p'pare The stuffin' for the turkey, and The sass and all, you understand. I've always managed David by Jes sayin' nothin'. That was why He'd chased Lide's beau away—'cause Lide She'd allus take up Perry's side When David tackled him; and so, Last Christmas was a year ago,— Er ruther 'bout a week afore,— David and Perry'd quarr'l'd about Some tom-fool argyment, you know, And pap told him to "Jes git out And, when he went, to shet the door!" And as he passed the winder, we Saw Perry, white as white could be, March past, onhitch his hoss, and light A see-gyar, and lope out o' sight. Then Lide she come to me and cried. And I said nothin'—was no need. And yit, you know, that man jes got Right out o' there's ef he'd be'n shot— P'tendin' he must go and feed The stock er somepin'. Then I tried To git the pore girl pacified. But gittin' back to—where was we?— Oh, yes—where David lectered me All way to meetin', high and low, Last Christmas was a year ago. Fer all the awful cold, they was A fair attendunce; mostly, though, The crowd was 'round the stoves, you see, Thawin' their heels and scrougin' us. Ef't 'adn't be'n fer the old Squire Givin' his seat to us, as in We stompted, a-fairly perishin', And David could 'a' got no fire, He'd jes 'a' drapped there in his tracks. And Squire, as I was tryin' to yit Is I got to git up and git 'Ithout no preachin'. Jes got word— Trial fer life—can't be deferred!" And out he put. And all way through The sermont—and a long one, too— I couldn't he'p but think o' Squire And us changed round so, and admire His gintle ways—to give his warm Bench up, and have to face the storm. And when I noticed David he Was needin' jabbin', I thought best To kind o' sort o' let him rest— 'Peared like he slep' so peacefully! And then I thought o' home, and how And what the girls was doin' now, And kind o' prayed, 'way in my breast, And breshed away a tear er two As David waked, and church was through. By time we'd "howdyed" round, and shuck Hands with the neighbors, must 'a' tuck A half-hour longer: ever' one A-sayin' "Christmas-gift!" afore David er me—so we got none. But David warmed up, more and more, And got so jokey-like, and had His sperits up, and 'peared so glad, A passel of 'em come and eat Their dinners with us.—Girls 's got A full-and-plenty fer the lot And all their kin." So David passed The invite round. And ever' seat In ever' wagon-bed and sleigh Was jes packed, as we rode away— The young folks, mild er so along, A-strikin' up a sleighin' song. Tel David laughed and yelled, you know, And jes whirped up and sent the snow And gravel flyin' thick and fast— Last Christmas was a year ago. W'y, that-air seven-mild ja'nt we come— Jes seven mild scant from church to home— It didn't 'pear, that day, to be Much furder railly 'n 'bout three. But I was purty squeamish by The time home hove in sight and I See two vehickles standin' there Already. So says I, "Prepare!" All to myse'f. And presently David he sobered; and says he, "Hain't that-air Squire Hanch's old Buggy," he says, "and claybank mare?" Says I, "Le's git in out the cold— "Whose sleigh's that-air a-standin' there?" Says I, "It's no odds whose—you jes Drive to the house and let us out, 'Cause we're jes freezin', nigh about." Well, David swung up to the door And out we piled. At first I heerd Jane's voice; then Lide's—I thought afore I reached that girl I'd jes die, shore; And when I reached her, wouldn't keered Much ef I had, I was so glad, A-kissin' her through my green veil, And jes excitin' her so bad 'At she broke down, herse'f—and Jane She cried—and we all hugged again. And David—David jes turned pale!— Looked at the girls and then at me, Then at the open door—and then "Is old Squire Hanch in there?" says he. The old Squire suddently stood in The doorway, with a sneakin' grin. "Is Perry Anders in there, too?" Says David, limberin' all through, As Lide and me both grabbed him, and Perry stepped out and waved his hand And says, "Yes, pap." And David jes Stooped and kissed Lide, and says, "I guess Your mother's much to blame as you. Ef she kin resk him, I kin too." Bit better'n the one to-day 'At we'll have fer 'em. Hear some sleigh A-jinglin' now.—David, fer me, I wish you'd jes go out and see Ef they're in sight yit. It jes does Me good to think, in times like these, Lide's done so well. And David he's More tractabler 'n what he was Last Christmas was a year ago. James Whitcomb Riley. |
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