And Jean saw the right of it. Still, she cried herself to sleep that night, not so much for herself, as for the boys who had talked of the children's fur-clad saint for a month past. But by the next morning, Jean's inspiration had come. As soon as her work was done, she shut herself into her room and ransacked her few small stores. At least the boys should not be disappointed she thought, as she selected this treasure and that from the meagre number which she had hoarded with such care. A little planning and contriving changed them to fit the present need, and Jean had put them away until Christmas eve with the happy certainty that, at any rate, the toes of the stockings would bulge a little, even if the legs hung empty and lean. 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. "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.