s; 'cause she's such a jumping-jack herself, her papa said. You
know, Mama, Santy Claus puts nuts and candy, and _little_ things in your
stocking and puts your big things all around the room. Sometimes he
brings a tree and hangs them all on a tree. Virginia and Nellie want a
tree and a new doll. Virginia gets a new doll every Chris'mus, and she's
got every doll Santy ever brought her--even her little, baby, rubber
doll. She's eight years old and will have eight dolls! But Nellie
ain't--hasn't saved a single one, and she's scared she won't get one
this Chris'mus--awful scared."

"Why, dear?" asked Mrs. Joseph, when Hannah paused for breath.

"Because the doll Santy brought Nellie last Chris'mus, you know what?
She was playing Indian with her brother one day, and _chopped her head
off_! And Nellie's mama says she don't know whether old Santy's going to
forget that or _not_! But Nellie, she says she prays hard to the Virgin
Mary every night--if she don't go to sleep too quick. Mama, what's a
virgin? Mama, what's----"

"A virgin is a lady who has never been married," answered Mrs. Joseph,
putting the neglected musician back into his box.

Hannah wrestled alone for a moment with a mighty ecclesiastical problem,
and then gave it up.

"The Virgin Mary is God's mother," Hannah continued. "That's her picture
over our fireplace,"--pointing to a copy of a crude thirteenth century
Madonna and Child in a carved Gothic frame, which Eli and Rose Joseph
had bought in Italy while on their wedding trip. Flanked now by candles
burning in silver candelabra in honor of Chanuca, it gave the mantel a
passing resemblance to a Catholic shrine.

"I don't think God's mother is very pretty, do you, Mama? And I think
Nellie's little brother is a heap prettier'n God was when He was a
baby."

Mrs. Joseph showed signs of having reached the limit. "Hannah," she said
firmly, "it is time you were in bed."

"But, Papa hasn't come home yet."

"Papa will be late to-night, dear."

"The Chris'mus rush," sighed Hannah. "Mama, you haven't looked down my
throat to-day," she added, playing for time.

Mrs. Joseph went through the daily ritual. "It looks all right," she
pronounced.

"It _is_ all right," came the triumphant answer. "It is never going to
be sore again. Virginia says----"

"Never mind what Virginia says. If your throat ever hurts you the least
little bit, you are to come to me instantly and tell me. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, Mama,