The boy had disobeyed, and his mother placed him in a room by himself to reflect upon his fault, for which he was to be punished. He was sitting soberly in the chair where she had placed him, when, hearing a sound from the adjoining room, he went in and found his grandfather weeping. "What are you crying for, grandpa?" he asked, quickly. "I don't want your mother to whip you, but she must; yes, it's right for her to do it." "Don't cry, grandpa; I don't mind. She doesn't hurt me any; she only tickles me a little. 'T isn't nice for a big man like you to cry." "Eugene, come here," called his mother, taking his hand to lead him back to his chair. She repeated what she had heard to her mother, saying,— "I had as much as I could do to keep from showing my amusement. Father looking so penitent, and Eugene comforting him." CHAPTER XIV. CHRISTMAS DAY. IT is Christmas day. The chimes in the spire of the new church are playing sweet melodies; and the Sunday-school children, whose gift the chimes have been, are gathering together from all quarters of the town to practise with their teachers the Christmas carols they are to sing. This is the first service in the beautiful new church. It is to be publicly dedicated to the worship of God on the next Sabbath, but for weeks the workmen have put forth all their energies to have it ready for a service on Christmas day. The choir have been practising, too; and it is rumored new organist is expected, although his engagement does not commence till the first of January. The sleigh-bells jingle merrily, for the ground is covered with snow. Even now, an hour before service, several stalls in the neat row of horse-sheds are occupied. Now here comes Farmer Rand, smiling and nodding, and shouting his Christmas salutations to young and old, as he drives his old horse up the ascent, through the gate close to the nicely shovelled flagged walk to the front. The good farmer has a precious load to-day, and he is very careful of it. Yes, that is Lucy, his old woman, so wrapped up in shawls and buffalo-robes— with a hot brick in her great yellow muff, and another at her feet, which just now are cased in a pair of her husband's blue socks— that she finds it almost impossible to alight from the sleigh. For weeks the good woman has been nursing her strength for this great and joyful occasion. For days she and her man have watched the signs of the weather, have even prayed that, if it was God's will, it might be so propitious as to make it safe for her to go up to the house of the Lord and join with His people in their anthems of praise to the new-born King. Fortunately the sexton has recognized the farmer, and runs quickly to offer his services it helping her to the porch. One and another come forward to greet her and express their pleasure at seeing her here. The children, even, gather round her pew and say,— "Merry Christmas, Miss Rand! How do you like the new church?"