ve candles up there. Come down now, that's a good boy, and show me
your paper, and we'll pack it up to send to your uncle by post."

"Very well, mother," said Ted, with his usual cheery good-nature. "I'm
coming. Here goes," and in another minute he was beside her. "You don't
know what a beautiful long paperful I've got. I don't want you to pack
it up _yet_, mother. Cissy and I are going to keep it on ever so much
longer, aren't we, Cis?"

And chattering merrily the children went in with their mother. But as
she said to their father, it really is to be doubted if they would not
have stayed in the tree all night, if Ted had got his wish and arranged
a "dip" illumination on the top of the wall.

After all, that day in the tree was the last of their "stick-sticks."
The weather changed, and there was nearly a week of rain, and by the
time it was over, children-like, Ted and Cissy had grown tired of the
rows of strokes representing old women and donkeys and horses, and all
the rest of them; the "observations" had lost their attraction for them.
Still the pleasure was not quite over, for there was the packing of the
big paper to send to Uncle Ted by post, and his letter of thanks in
return. And Percy came home for the holidays, and greatly approved of
the nest in the tree. And what the children did _not_ do up there--what
games they played, how they were by turns Robinson Crusoe hiding from
the savages, King Charles in the oak at Boscobel, or, quainter still,
how they all sometimes suddenly turned into squirrels and manufactured
for themselves the most wonderful tails of old brush handles, and
goodness only knows what, which stuck straight up behind and made the
climbing to the nest by no means an easy matter--yes indeed, what they
did _not_ do up in the tree would be difficult to tell.

But it comes into my mind just now that I have never told you anything
of Ted's indoor life. Hitherto it has seemed all summer days and
gardens, has it not? And no doubt the boy's _greatest_ happiness was
in outdoor interests and employments. But of course it was not always
summer and sunshine for Ted, any more than for any one else--and,
Christmas child though he was, there were wintry days when even _he_ had
to stay in the house and find work and pleasures indoors. For winter
does not mean nothing but bright frosty skies overhead, and crisp clean
snow underfoot. There are dreary days of rain and mist and mud, when
children are much better