The Christmas-tree had not yet begun to spring in England, magic lanterns were tiny things only seen in private, and even such festivities as the tea had not dawned on the scholastic mind. So, on the afternoon of Christmas Day, all the children were assembled in school before Mr Harford, the ladies, and the schoolmistress, while the table was loaded with books and garments, and beside it stood a great flasket brimming over with substantial currant buns, gazed on eagerly by the little things, some of whom had even had a scanty Christmas dinner. Such a spectacle had never been seen before in Uphill, and their hungry eyes devoured it beforehand. Mr Harford made them a short speech about goodness, steadiness, and diligence, and then the distribution began with the two prime Sunday scholars, and went on in due order of merit, through all degrees, down to the mites who had the painted dolls, and figured handkerchiefs with Aesop's fables in pink or in purple, and then followed the distribution of buns, stout plum buns, no small treat to these ever hungry children, some of whom were nibbling them before they were out of school, while others, more praiseworthy, kept them to share with "our baby" at home. Johnnie Hewlett received a Bible, his sister Polly a warm cape, Lizzie a petticoat, little Judy a doll, but on the very last Sunday, Jem, always a black sheep, had been detected in kicking Jenny Morris at church over a screw of peppermint drops which they had clubbed together to purchase from Goody Spurrell. The scent and Jenny's sobs had betrayed them in the thick of the combat, and in the face of so recent and so flagrant a misdemeanour, neither combatant could be allowed a prize, though the buns were presented to them through Mary's softness of heart. These stayed the tears for the moment, but a fresh shower was pumped up by Jem for the sympathetic reception of his mother. "It was a shame! it was; but they ladies always had a spite at the poor little lad. He should have some nice bull's-eyes to make up to him, that he should! What call had they to be at him when it was all along of that there nasty little Jenny." Nevertheless, at the gate she shared her wrath with Jenny's mother. What call had they to want to make the poor children to be like parsons at church? Jem shouldn't be there no more, she could tell them. Then Nanny Barton chimed in. "And look what they did give! Just a twopenny-halfpenny handkercher that her Tom would be ashamed to wear!" He wasn't, for it was thick and warm, and had been chosen because his poor little neck looked so blue. But Molly went on. "Ladies did ought to know what became 'em to give. There was my Lady Duchess, she gave 'em all scarlet cloaks, and stuff frocks, as there was some warmth in. That was worth having--given to all alike! No talk of prizes, for what I'd not demean myself to pick up out of the gutter."