"Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still. The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; The hall was dressed with holly green; Forth to the wood did merry-men go, To gather in the mistletoe."--WALTER SCOTT. "Can you make out what the child means?" said Douglas, as his elder daughter entered the study early on Christmas morning to renew the fire and set the apartment in order for the day. As he spoke he held Tita's epistle hopelessly before him, and scanned the zig-zag lines. "She wants some ribbons for her hair," said Anne, making out the words over his shoulder. "Poor little thing! she is so proud of her hair, and all the other girls have bright ribbons. But I can not make ribbons," she added, regretfully, as though she found herself wanting in a needful accomplishment. "Think of her faith in Santa Klaus, old as she is, and her writing to ask him! But there is ribbon in the house, after all," she added, suddenly, her face brightening. "Miss Lois gave me some last month; I had forgotten it. That will be the very thing for Tita; she has not even seen it." (But has she not, thou unsuspicious elder sister?) "Do not rob yourself, child," said the father, wearily casting his eyes over the slip of paper again. "What spelling! The English is bad, but the French worse." "That is because she has no French teacher, papa; and you know I do not allow her to speak the island _patois_, lest it should corrupt the little she knows." "But she does speak it; she always talks _patois_ when she is alone with me." "Does she?" said Anne, in astonishment. "I had no idea of that. But _you_ might correct her, papa."