“Truly so, but then, such a delightful custom!” replied Annette. “To-morrow night you will have to do your part in the Yule Klap; I hope you are prepared.” “But then, I know not.” “My aunt will tell you all about it.” And Mrs. Bloommaert said: “Come now, it is easy enough. The judge will open the Christmas room, and then every one will throw their gifts into the room, crying ‘_Yule Klap_’ in a disguised voice. The gifts may be rich or poor, but they must be wrapped in a great number of coverings, and each cover be addressed to a different person, but the person whose name is on the last cover gets the gift. The gifts are to be strictly anonymous. So then no thanks are to be given, and there can be no envious feelings awakened.” “That is charming,” cried St. Ange. Then he was in a hurry to leave, but Mrs. Bloommaert insisted that he should stay and drink a glass of hot negus ere he went into the cold air. While the negro boy was bringing in a tray full of Christmas dainties, and Sappha spicing the Portugal wine, they finished the dressing of the room; and then sat down round the fire to refresh themselves. And very soon St. Ange began to talk of certain Christmas feasts he had spent in Europe--in Madrid, at the Christmas turkey fair, amid glorious sunshine, the flower girls selling camillas and violets; everywhere colour, beauty, music, barbarism, and dirt. At Rome in the antique fish market, always brilliantly lighted with large torches on Christmas Eve. “For I assure you,” he said, “the sumptuous fish supper of that night is beyond anything that can be conceived of here.”--at Naples, where Christmas is kept with confectionery, and the Toledo is a feast of sugar and sweets. “Are then the Neapolitans so fond of confectionery?” asked Annette. “They must be very children,” she added. “They are children among sweets,” he answered. “A Neapolitan noble told me that the king was ever fearing revolution; ‘but,’ he added, ‘if he will only present every Neapolitan with a box of sweets a revolution will be impossible.’” “I do not think a box of sweets to every American would have prevented our Revolution,” said Sappha. Every one laughed heartily at the idea, and then she pictured Washington and Putnam, and her grandfather Bloommaert’s reception of these peace offerings. And the scene was so funnily enacted that no one could help laughing heartily at it. Yet in the very climax of the hilarious chorus Sappha had a heavy heart; her mirth was only from the lips outward. However, it seemed only too real to Leonard, who entered suddenly while the peal of laughter was at its height. And he was so totally unexpected that the moment’s sudden silence which followed was the most natural consequence; especially as it ended in a rush of inquiries and exclamations. “So glad to see you!” “Come and sit down, and have a glass of hot negus.” “What good fortune sent you?”