Then by “Christmas Eve’s eve” the wood was all cut and stacked high in the wood-house and on and under the back porticos, so as to be handy, and secure from the snow which was almost certain to come. It seems that Christmas was almost sure to bring it in old times; at least it is closely associated with it. The excitement increased; the boxes were unpacked, some of them openly, to the general delight; others with a mysterious secrecy which stimulated curiosity to its highest point and added immeasurably to the charm of the occasion. The kitchen filled up with assistants famed for special skill in particular branches of the cook’s art, who bustled about with glistening faces and shining teeth, proud of their elevation and eager to prove their merits and add to the general cheer. [Illustration: _Dressing the Church._] It was now Christmas Eve. From time to time the “hired out” servants came home from Richmond or other places where they had been hired or had hired out themselves, their terms having been by common custom framed, with due regard to their rights to the holiday, to expire in time for them to spend the Christmas at home.[2] There was much hilarity over their arrival, and they were welcomed like members of the family as, with their new winter clothes donned a little ahead of time, they came to pay “bespec’s to master and mistis.” [2] The hiring contracts ran from New Year to Christmas. Then the vehicles went off to the distant station for the visitors--the visitors and the boys. Oh the excitement of that! at first the drag of the long hours, and then the eager expectancy as the time approached for their return; the “making up” of the fires in the visitors’ rooms (of the big fires; there had been fires there all day “to air” them, but now they must be made up afresh); the hurrying backwards and forwards of the servants; the feverish impatience of every one, especially of the children, who are sure the train is “late” or that something has “happened,” and who run and look up towards the big gate every five minutes, notwithstanding the mammy’s oft-repeated caution that a “watch’ pot never b’iles.” There was one exception to the general excitement: the Mistress, calm, deliberate, unperturbed, moved about with her usual serene composure, her watchful eye seeing that everything was “ready.” Her orders had been given and her arrangements made days before, such was her system. The young ladies, having finished dressing the parlor and hall, had disappeared. Satisfied at last with their work, after innumerable final touches, every one of which was an undeniable improvement to that which had already appeared perfect, they had suddenly vanished--vanished as completely as a dream--to appear again later on at the parlor door, radiant visions of loveliness, or, maybe, if certain visitors unexpectedly arrived, to meet accidentally in the less embarrassing and safer precincts of the dimly lighted halls or passages. When they appeared, what a