“That is what nobody does in this age of nonsense and dissipation,” returned her husband. “I don’t know what the world is coming to!” “Wasn’t our Saviour born on Christmas-day, Mamma?” asked Nettie’s timid voice. “That is not certain, by any means, child. And if it were true, there is all the more scandal in making a frolic of it. If there were to be prayer-meetings held all over the world to celebrate the event, it would be far more appropriate.” The polysyllable staggered Nettie a little, but she retained sufficient courage to reply: “Our teacher told us, last Sabbath, that everybody ought to be very happy upon the Saviour’s birthday.” Before Mrs. Dryden could answer, Ally put in his oar. “Mamma! why doesn’t Santa Claus ever come down our chimney?” “There is no such creature, Allison! You are too old to believe in that ridiculous fable.” “But, Mamma, he came to Aunt Mary’s last year!” cried both children, in a breath. “And we all hung up our stockings in the parlor!” added Nettie. “And Aunt Mary let the fire go down on purpose, so that the old chap might not be scorched!” shouted Ally, excitedly. “We wanted her to have the chimney swept, but she said he wouldn’t mind a little dirt.” “For you know-- ‘His clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot!’” quoted Nettie, “and yet he was in a good humor --‘and filled all the stockings’”-- “‘Then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger alongside his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!’” chanted Ally. “Oh! what times we had repeating that, after we went to bed that night. ‘His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. He had a broad face and a little round--’” “You children will be the death of me!” cried Mrs. Dryden, distractedly, putting her hands to her ears. “I shall certainly never let you spend another Christmas at your Aunt Mary’s! Your heads were so crammed with nonsense last year, that I am afraid you will never get rid of it. Finish your suppers and be off to bed! You are as Christmas-mad as if you had never been trained to more sensible things!” “I can not imagine,” said Mr. Dryden, severely, “how they have contrived to remember the senseless doggerel your sister was so injudicious as to teach them.” “That is the depravity of human nature!” sighed the wife. Very sober little faces were uplifted to father and mother for a “good-night” kiss, and very slow footsteps went up the stairs to the chamber which the brother and sister shared in common. There was a pathos in the sound, so unlike was it to the brisk patter of other small feet upon other floors and staircases on that jubilee eve.