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. The boys had not the least intention of being naughty; but the storm kept them shut up in the house, and they were overflowing with fun and mischief, which was somewhat increased by the vague holiday feeling that is in the very air around us at Christmas time. Jean did her part well, restraining their boisterous shouts, making peace in their small quarrels, proposing new entertainments when the old ones had been worn threadbare, and, in the afternoon, calling them all into a corner of the dining-room and telling them marvellous old-time stories, to keep them quiet while their father took his nap in the next room. Not much of a Christmas eve, perhaps, compared with the stir and bustle of preparation at the Hapgoods', or with the elaborate gifts which Mr. and Mrs. Lang had bought for their only child; but after all, blessed be drudgery! and the hard work and stern self-denial were doing much to round Jean's character into the perfect womanhood, for which all our girls were striving. Slowly the day wore away; an endless one it appeared to Jean who, with tired hands and weary head, longed for the hour when the little ones should be tucked away for the night, and she could give her nerves and her patience a little rest. It came soon after supper, for the boys were more than ready to go to bed, hoping in this way to encourage an early visit from Santa Claus and so have the first choice of gifts from his overflowing pack. There was a little sadness in Jean's smile, as she watched them eagerly fastening their long stockings around the kitchen chimney, with many a sleepy dispute about the best place and to whom it should be given. Then they clattered up the stairs and pulled off their clothes, tossing them in a promiscuous pile on the floor, to be sorted out again by Jean while they lay huddled under the blankets. The last good night was said, the last "Merry Christmas" exchanged in anticipation of the morrow, and Jean went away and left them.