paused a moment, and that unlucky child with that tendency to be
possessed by one idea, which is characteristic of small and trivial
minds, and for which she should have been shaken, burst in with, "And
did the reindeer bring you, and are they outside?"

He almost groaned, so overwhelmed was he by this new idiocy. Reindeer!
If those overworked, struggling car-horses could have heard that! Then
Mrs. Bilton, pitying his evident confusion, came to his assistance.

"Don't mind the children, Mr. Gilton," she said, her cheeks flushing,
and looking very pretty with the excitement of the unusual
circumstances, "we are glad you came, however you made your way here. I
think we may thank Christmas Eve for it. Now do take off your overcoat
and sit down."

Oh, mispraised woman's tact! What complications you may produce! That
finished it, of course. He sat down. In those few moments that strange
feeling had grown marvellously stronger. It seemed to be made up of the
most diverse elements,--a mixture of green wreaths and his own
childhood, and his mother, and a top he had not thought of for years,
and the wide fireplace at home, and a stable with a child in it, and a
picture, in a book he used to read, of a lot of angels in the sky, one
particular one in the middle, and underneath it some words--what were
the words? He'd forgotten they had anything to do with Christmas,
anyway.

"But you _did_ bring us the turkey, didn't you?" said Cora Cordelia,
helping her mother on.

To do the child justice,--for even Cora Cordelia has a right to demand
justice,--her manners were corrupted by Christmas expectancy.

"Cora Cordelia, I'm ashamed of you," said Mrs. Bilton.

"Yes," said Mr. Gilton, the words wrung from his lips, while beads stood
on his forehead,--"yes, I brought you the turkey."

"Did you really?" exclaimed Mrs. Bilton, who thought he had all the
time. "That was very kind of you."

"Will you please take it--take it away?" he said, with that wish to have
something over which we associate with the dentist. So Mrs. Bilton took
the turkey and thanked him, and gave it to Fanny, who carried it out to
the kitchen, and Mr. Gilton gave one last look at its legs as it went
through the door, feeling that now he must wake up from this nightmare.
But things only went farther and became more incredible and upsetting,
only that, strangely enough, that feeling of horror began to wear off,
and that singular strain of association with all sort