"Your nose is blue and your ears are red. Are the boys getting
up?"
"Oh, yes; they must be nearly dressed," answered Jean. "They
started as soon as I did."
Breakfast was all ready to put on the table, and still the boys
had not come down. Jean had heard them running about their rooms;
but now, for some time, all had been silent. Suddenly there was a
shout.
"Jean! Jean! _Jean!_"
"Well," answered Jean, going to the foot of the back stairs, with
the toasting-fork in one hand and a slice of bread in the other.
"I can't find but one stocking. You come and look for it for me."
"I'm busy, Erne," she called. "Ask Willie to help you."
"He won't. He's gone back to bed, 'cause it's cold," responded the
childish voice.
Jean glanced at her mother in despair. Then she put down her toast
and went up to the boy's room. Mrs. Dwight could hear her coaxing,
laughing, and merrily scolding the boys, as she found the missing
garments, routed Willie out from his warm nest in the middle of
the bed, and triumphantly marshalled the four children downstairs
to their seats at the breakfast table.
It was the beginning of a long, hard day, and Jean was forced,
again and again, to hold herself in check while she bethought
herself of the true Christmas spirit: good will to men.
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