lease let mamma go away to church and know that you
are all sweet and lovely and clean as new little pennies to-night."

Splash went one little body into the bath-tub, and splash went another,
and again a third; and then, like so many roses after a shower, out they
came, dripping, and laughing and screaming with glee. The little mother
was kept busy enough, for it was Christmas-eve, and the carols and
anthems were to be rehearsed for the last time, and Mrs. Morton's clear
soprano voice could not be spared. Indeed, her voice was all that kept
Teddie and Clover and Daisy in their neat little box of a house, for
their father, a brave fireman, had been killed more than two years
before at a fearful fire, and since then their mother had striven hard
to maintain her little family by sewing, and singing, and doing whatever
work her slender hands could accomplish which would bring in food and
clothing for her children.

"Be dood, Teddie," repeated Daisy, after her mother, as she shook out
her little wet curls at him, and Clover solemnly raised his finger at
his bigger brother, with the warning,

"Remember, Santa Claus comes to-night."

"Yes, and the stockings must be hung up," said Ted, who forthwith
proceeded to attend to that important duty.

"There! how do they look?--one brown, that's mine; one blue, that's
Clover's; and one red, that's Daisy's." They were pinned fast to the
fender with many pins and much care.

"But, mamma," said Clover, "the stove's in the way. Santa Claus can't
get down with that big black thing stopping the chimney."

"Oh, the fire will go out by-and-by, and then he may creep through the
stove-pipe and out of the door."

"He'll be awful dirty, then," said Daisy.

"Well, 'he was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his
clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot,' so that is to be
expected. But really, dear children, you must jump into your beds, and
let me tuck you up; it is time for me to go."

Very quickly the rosy little faces were nestling in the pillows, and
Mrs. Morton, after kissing them, put out the lamp and left them to their
slumbers. Hastily putting on her cloak and bonnet, she paused at the
door of her sitting-room to see if the fire was safe. The room was dark
but for the gleaming stove, the chairs and table were all in order, and
in one corner, under a covering of paper, was the little tree she had
decked in odd moments to delight the eyes of her children. She co