On arriving home they confess their sins—only the little matter of the rye bread is really forgotten. Everybody is busy; the cook is getting the supper, and father in the drawing-room has the door locked. Some one has said there will be no Christmas tree, for there are no shops here; but why was mother away for four days, and why did that pedler who came by a few days ago stay so long? Irina finds a book, curls up on a rug, and tries to read, but she does not understand Kryloff’s “Fables” very well; the day out-doors has made her drowsy and she does not quite know what becomes of the time until her brothers shake her a little, the clock rings out “Cuckoo” six times, and then open comes the door. There _is_ a Christmas tree after all, a tall one with a shining star at the top. Hundreds of burning candles light it up, and tiny wax figures dance among hanging oranges. At the foot of the tree lie four or five heaps of parcels,—ah, then, mother _was_ shopping; no one is forgotten and every one is merry. Then comes Pavel to say that supper is ready. But the white cloth looks very different from usual; it is not laid smoothly at all. Underneath it has been spread a layer of hay, and each one as he sits down pulls out a straw. Irina gives a cry of joy: her piece is quite complete, with its yellow, dried flower—which shows that she will be lucky all the next year. There is no meat at this Christmas Eve supper, only fish dishes and the special _Kostya_, or puddings which belong to the season very much as do mince pie and plum pudding in England. Of these puddings there are two kinds,—the white _Kostya_, made of rice, almonds, and raisins, and the black _Kostya_, made of honey, barley, and walnuts. During supper the children from the village school which Irina’s mother has started come and sing carols outside the window until Pavel with a handful of coins tells them to be off. Other young villagers follow to acknowledge their gifts with more singing. Lastly comes the church choir, who are invited in to supper after Irina and her brothers have returned to the tree and their new toys. For each there is a gift and from each a torrent of good wishes. This practice of carol singing is probably in its origin akin to the religious processions which one may see on any holy day in all the villages of Greece, the Balkan provinces, and up through Russia,—wherever, in fact, the Greek church has diverted into the service of religion the old customs of the people. For centuries back and probably long before the Christian era, it was the practice of the young people here and elsewhere to gather into bands and go about the country roads at this time of year singing hymns which were at first, no doubt, songs of rejoicing that the shortest days were over and the sun returning to the world again. Nowadays the songs are chants or carols, and the village boys are proud to carry in religious processions pictures of the saints and the banners of the church.