d looked out through his
clouded eyes upon his favorite child. He kissed her, gave her his usual
blessing, "May God help the soul He has created!" and then, almost
before she had closed the door, he was far away again on one of those
long journeyings which he took silently, only his following guardian
angel knew whither. Anne went across the hall and entered the
sitting-room; the fire was low, but she stirred the embers, and by their
light filled the four stockings hanging near the chimney-piece. First
she put in little round cakes wrapped in papers; then home-made candies,
not thoroughly successful in outline, but well-flavored and sweet; next
gingerbread elephants and camels, and an attempt at a fairy; lastly the
contents of her work-basket, which gave her much satisfaction as she
inspected them for the last time. Throwing a great knot, which would
burn slowly all night, upon the bed of dying coals, she lighted a candle
and went up to her own room.

As soon as she had disappeared, a door opened softly above, and a small
figure stole out into the dark hall. After listening a moment, this
little figure went silently down the stairs, paused at the line of light
underneath the closed study door, listened again, and then, convinced
that all was safe, went into the sitting-room, took down the stockings
one by one, and deliberately inspected all their contents, sitting on a
low stool before the fire. First came the stockings of the boys; each
parcel was unrolled, down to the last gingerbread camel, and as deftly
enwrapped again by the skillful little fingers. During this examination
there was not so much an expression of interest as of jealous scrutiny.
But when the turn of her own stocking came, the small face showed the
most profound, almost weazened, solicitude. Package after package was
swiftly opened, and its contents spread upon the mat beside her. The
doll was cast aside with contempt, the slippers examined and tried on
with critical care, and then when the candy and cake appeared and
nothing else, the eyes snapped with anger.

The little brown hand felt down to the toe of the stocking: no, there
was nothing more. "It is my opinion," said Tita, in her French island
_patois_, half aloud, "that Annet is one stupid beast."

She then replaced everything, hung the stockings on their nails, and
stole back to her own room; here, by the light of a secreted candle-end,
she manufactured the following epistle, with heavy labor