traditionally, they being of an annual nature, but
whether he did or not, or whether his ignorance was also traditional, he
gave no sign, and walked feebly up-stairs, guided by the Little Scout,
just as if it were not Christmas Eve at all.

What the proceedings did mean was that a steaming pot of coffee at the
given signal was lifted from its warm corner and tilted into a cup that
held a conspicuous place at the head of a little white spread table. On
its right hand sat, in the position of an honored and seldom present
guest, a juicy-complexioned, but not corpulent beefsteak; opposite to
it, inviting death by explosion, rested a bowl full of steaming potatoes
in their native jackets, and the centre was fully occupied by a huge
loaf with a large family of slices.

Around this collation--aroused by the signal, for they had been idly
waiting before--moved two pairs of hands with loving attention. The
cloth was resmoothed, the knives and forks straightened, a brace of
mealy potatoes was emptied on the two plates that awaited them, and at
last a ruddy slice of beefsteak was deposited beside and oozed through
them its savoriness. This last climax was reached just as the door
opened, and the two pairs of hands speedily transferred themselves to
the duty--no very arduous one--of helping David and Dolly out of their
wraps.

And then, with many caresses and kisses and cries of "Take this side,
father, where the coals are bright!" or "Put your feet here and get them
good and warm, poor Little Scout!" then, when thick flying questions and
travellings to the one end of the room for things that were not wanted,
and excursions to the other end of the room for things that were wanted;
when the chairs were drawn up; when the grateful old man and his little
daughter, with those tender hands over their mouths to stifle the
gratitude they struggled to utter, were duly seated at the table, and
when the kettle was singing its approval in the corner, then,
only,--when all these preliminaries were gone through with,--did the
possessors of the hands that devised them seat themselves on a low
wooden settee opposite the table and enjoy the zest and delight they had
ministered to.

Good nature and tender hearts, pale faces and cheerful eyes, honest red
hands and neatly bound-up hair have never been faithfully reproduced in
a state of print and paper, much less in imagination, and, indeed, how
can anything so buxom and comely, even if the plain