Now Bobby had new occupation which kept him so busy that he had no more time for coasting. Grandma Orde gave him a spool of stout linen thread, a thimble, and a long needle with a big eye. Bobby, a pan of cranberries between his knees, threaded the pretty red spheres in long strings. He liked to pierce their flesh with the needle, and then to draw them down the long thread, like beads. The juice of them dyed the thread crimson, as indeed it also stained Bobby's finger and anything they happened subsequently to touch. As each long string was completed, Bobby went into the chilly parlour and reverently festooned it from branch to branch of the tree. It was astonishing what a festive air the red imparted to the sombre green. When finally the pan was emptied of cranberries, it was replenished with popcorn. Bobby unhooked the long-handled wire popper from its nail in the back entry and set to work over the open fire. It was great fun to hear the corn explode; and great fun to keep it shaking and turning until the wire cage was filled to its capacity with this indoor snow. Once Bobby neglected to fasten the top securely, and the first miniature explosion blew it open so that the popcorn deluged into the fire. When the last little cannon--for so Bobby always imagined them--had uttered its belated voice, Bobby knocked loose the fastening and poured the white, beautiful corn into the pan. Always were some kernels which had refused to expand. "Old Maids," Bobby called them. This popcorn, too, was to be strung by needle and thread. It was a difficult task. The corn was apt to split, or to prove impervious to the needle. However, the strings were wonderful, like giant snowdrops shackled together to do honour to the spirit of Christmas. Bobby hung them also on the branches of the tree. His part of the celebration was finished. Mrs. Orde believed that Christmas excitement should have a full day in which to expend itself; so Christmas eve offered nothing except a throbbing anticipation. One old custom, however, was observed as usual. After supper Mr. Orde seated himself in front of the fire. "Get the book, Bobby," said he. Bobby had the book all ready. It was a very thin wide book, printed entirely on linen, in bright colours, and was somewhat cracked and ragged, as though it had seen much service. Bobby presented this to his father and climbed on his knee. Mr. Orde opened the book and began to read that one verse of all verses replete to childhood with the very essence of this children's season: "_'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings all hung by the chimney with care In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there._" As the reading progressed, Bobby thrilled more and more at the cumulation of the interest. St. Nick's cry to his steeds: "_----Now Dolly, now Vixen! Now Feather! Now, Snowball! Now Dunder and Blitzen!_"