w's tails, which Mary swept up into a dust shovel and
deposited in the coal-hole, or some such dark region below.

Our trio possessed neither fear nor pride. They were also destitute of
taste, and had no respect for persons. Treating their repulse as a good
joke, they turned round and went hilariously along the Strand, embracing
every one they met, young and old, rich and poor, pretty and plain, with
pointed impartiality, until they reached the City. There we will leave
them to revel amongst the poor, while we return to the mansion at the
west end.

In two snug bedrooms thereof two young men lay in their comfortable
beds, partially awake and yawning--the one flat on his back as if laid
out for his last sleep; the other coiled into a bundle with the
bedclothes, as if ready to be carried off to the laundry with the next
washing. The rooms were connected by a door which stood open, for the
occupants were twin brothers; their united ages amounting to forty
years.

"Ned," said the straight one to the bundle.

"Well, Tom," (sleepily).

"Did you hear that noise--like a cannon-shot?"

"Ya-i-o-u yes--som'ing tumbled--door bang'd," (snore).

"Hallo, Ned!" cried Tom, suddenly leaping out of bed and beginning to
dress in haste; "why, it's Christmas morning! I had almost forgot. A
Merry Christmas to you, my boy!"

"M'rry Kissm's, ol' man, but don' waken me. What's use o' gettin' up?"

"The use?" echoed Tom, proceeding rapidly with his toilet; "why, Ned,
the use of rising early is that it enables a man to get through with his
work in good time, and I've a deal of work to do to-day at the
east-end."

"So 'v' I," murmured Ned, "at th' wes' end."

"Indeed. What are you going to do?"

"Sk-t."

"Sk-t? What's that?"

"Skate--ol' man, let m' 'lone," growled Ned, as he uncoiled himself to
some extent and re-arranged the bundle for another snooze.

With a light laugh Tom Westlake left his brother to enjoy his repose,
and descended to the breakfast-room, where his sister Matilda, better
known as Matty, met him with a warm reception.

Everything that met him in that breakfast-parlour was warm. The fire,
of course, was warm, and it seemed to leap and splutter with a
distinctly Christmas morning air; the curtains and carpets and
arm-chairs were warm and cosy in aspect; the tea-urn was warm, indeed it
was hot, and so were the muffins, while the atmosphere itself was
unusually warm. The tiny thermometer on the chimne