"'Do you think you were born on Christmas-day, little one?' "'I think I was once, sir.' "'I shall teach the child to tell lies if I go on asking her questions in this way,' thought my uncle. 'Will you go home with me?' he said coaxingly. "'Yes, sir, if you will tell me where to put my broom, for I must not go home without it, else aunt would wollop me.' "'I will buy you a new broom.' "'But aunt would wollop me all the same if I did not bring home the old one for our Christmas fire.' "'Never mind. I will take care of you. You may bring your broom if you like, though,' he added, seeing a cloud come over the little face. "'Thank you, sir,' said the child; and, shouldering her broom, she trotted along behind him, as he led the way home. "But this would not do, either. Before they had gone twelve paces, he had the child in one hand; and before they had gone a second twelve, he had the broom in the other. And so Uncle Peter walked home with his child and his broom. The latter he set down inside the door, and the former he led upstairs to his room. There he seated her on a chair by the fire, and ringing the bell, asked the landlady to bring a basin of bread and milk. The woman cast a look of indignation and wrath at the poor little immortal. She might have been the impersonation of Christmas-day in the catacombs, as she sat with her feet wide apart, and reaching halfway down the legs of the chair, and her black eyes staring from the midst of knotted tangles of hair that never felt comb or brush, or were defended from the wind by bonnet or hood. I dare say uncle's poor apartment, with its cases of stuffed birds and its square piano that was used for a cupboard, seemed to her the most sumptuous of conceivable abodes. But she said nothing--only stared. When her bread and milk came, she ate it up without a word, and when she had finished it, sat still for a moment, as if pondering what it became her to do next. Then she rose, dropped a courtesy, and said:--'Thank you, sir. Please, sir, where's my broom?' "'Oh, but I want you to stop with me, and be my little girl.' "'Please, sir, I would rather go to my crossing.' "The face of Little Christmas lengthened visibly, and she was upon the point of crying. Uncle Peter saw that he had been too precipitate, and that he must woo the child before he could hope to win her; so he asked her for her address. But though she knew the way to her home perfectly, she could give only what seemed to him the most confused directions how to find it. No doubt to her they seemed as clear as day. Afraid of terrifying her by following her, the best way seemed to him to promise her a new frock on the morrow, if she would come and fetch it. Her face brightened so at the sound of a new frock, that my uncle had very little fear of the fault being hers if she did not come. "'Will you know the way back, my dear?'" "'I always know my way anywheres,' answered she. So she was allowed to depart with her cherished broom."