“You have been so good,” said Verney, “that I shall have some little presents for you to-morrow.” The twins wished to hear of them. “No,” he said, “you must wait.” But in the morning he and the Colonel had to go out to inspect the works Major Montresor had thrown up at Chestnut Hill. They would use their own horses and Mrs. Markham’s sleigh, and would their mother let the boys go? “They are so good,” said Verney. “Oh, do, mother!” cried the twins. The Colonel at the table growled that children were in the way, nuisances; but Verney took his assent for granted, and somewhat reluctantly the mother yielded, her friend Verney promising to take care of them. Tom liked very well this chance to see the soldiers, but showed the growing boy’s usual appearance of being unenthusiastic. Moreover, he hated the Colonel as much as he liked Verney. Assured of the frolic, the twins frankly opened the question of Christmas presents with their friendly German guest, Mrs. Markham protesting in vain. The Count laughed. “_Guter himmel_, children. I have no presents. Ask the Colonel; he might dream you each a pony.” The Colonel by this time was sound asleep. “It’s no use,” said Harry. “Not even if he was awake,” said Bill. “If you haven’t got any presents, tell us a story.” This he had done many times, liking the lads. Now at this Christmas season he was thinking of his distant home and his wife and children, away in the Fatherland. “Come, come, Count,” said Verney; “I like stories.” The Count sat still, reflecting. “He’s getting ready,” said Harry. “It will be a Christmas story, boys.” “By all means,” said Verney, seeing as he spoke the old Devonshire hall--his home, the holly and the mistletoe, and hearing the merriment that seemed to sail to him on fairy ships over three thousand miles of sea. They would drink his health this night. He was recalled to a sense of his alien surroundings as the Count said: “This is a story, boys, my father used to tell when I was a little fellow, but it was never told except on Christmas Eve when we sat in the great hall of my own home.” “What made you come away to fight us?” This was Bill’s contribution. Harry punched him to emphasize his wish that there should be no interruptions. Mrs. Markham did not, as usual, reprove the twin whose ingenious capacity to unite impertinence and curiosity was in great need of check. She merely looked up at the Hessian gentleman, who gravely made reply to Bill: “I am a soldier and go where I am ordered, even though it take me to death.” The twins discussed this later, but Tom was old enough to note the suddenly serious look of the officer as Mrs. Markham, who knew his history, said: “Be quiet, boys. I want to hear the story, even if you do not.” “But we do,” cried the twins. “When I tell this story I think of the great hall of the castle, with no light but what the big logs gave, and how it flashed red on the armor and on the lances and swords on the walls.”