, I am brave."

He kicked off his shoe and stretched out his foot. The cobbler took
down from its nail his tape line and measured him. And the twilight
deepened and the room grew dark.

And the man went off cheerily. And with great strides he went into the
windy North. But to the South in a slow procession, I saw those others
who bore the weary burden of their wealth, staggering beneath their
load of dull possessions--their opera boxes, their money-chests and
stables, their glittering houses, their trunks of silks and laces, and
on their backs their fat wives shining in the night with jewels.

On Hanging a Stocking at Christmas.

As Christmas is, above all, a holiday for children, it is proper in
its season to consider with what regard they hold its celebration. But
as no one may really know the secrets of childhood except as he
retains the recollection of his own, it is therefore in the well of
memory that I must dip my pen. The world has been running these many
years with gathering speed like a great wheel upon a hill, and I must
roll it backward to the heights to see how I fared on the night and
day of Christmas.

I can remember that for a month before the day I computed its
distance, not only in hours and minutes but even in seconds, until the
answer was scrawled across my slate. Now, when I multiply 24 x 60 x
60, the resulting 86,400 has an agreeable familiarity as the amount I
struck off each morning. At bedtime on Christmas Eve I had still
36,000 impatient seconds yet to wait, for I considered that Christmas
really started at six o'clock in the morning.

There was, of course, a lesser celebration on Christmas Eve when we
hung our stockings. There were six of them, from mother's long one to
father's short one. Ours, although built on womanish lines, lacked the
greater length and they were, consequently, inferior for the purpose
of our greed; but father's were woefully short, as if fashioned to the
measure of his small expectancy. Even a candy cane came peeping from
the top, as if curiosity had stirred it to look around.

Finally, when the stockings were hung on the knobs of the mantel, we
went up the dark stairs to bed. At the landing we saw the last glimmer
from the friendly sitting-room. The hall clock ticked solemnly in the
shadow below with an air of firmness, as much as to say that it would
not be hurried. Fret as we might, those 36,000 seconds were not to be
jostled through the night.

In t