But now it was the morning of Christmas eve, and breakfast was
waiting until Jean should get it ready, so she sprang up and
hastily dressed herself. Then, with her cheeks glowing from the
shock of the icy water, and her fingers aching with cold, she ran
across the hall to rouse the boys. But they were sitting up in
bed, calling back and forth to each other through the open door
between their rooms, in all the joyous excitement of the
approaching Christmas tide; so Jean only stopped to caution them
not to disturb their father, and hurried away down-stairs, to
start the fire for their morning meal. The house was so cold, in
the dim light, for the fire had burned low and the wind seemed to
blow in through all the cracks and corners. But Jean never minded
that; she was thinking with a quiet satisfaction of the little box
up-stairs, and as she knelt on the bare floor to shake down the
ashes in the kitchen stove, she was humming contentedly to
herself,--
"'And pray a gladsome Christmas
On all good Christian men;
Carol, brothers, carol,
Christmas day again!'"
Her mother's step interrupted her.
"Good morning, mammy!" she exclaimed, jumping up. "Why in the
world didn't you stay in bed till the house was a little warmer?"
"It's no colder for me than it is for you," her mother answered.
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