Before they parted, Mary had coaxed pussy on to her knee; for Mrs. Jenkins would not part with baby, who was sleeping on her lap. “When you’re busy, bring him to me. Do, now, it will be a real favour. I know you must have a deal to do, with another coming; let him come up to me. I’ll take the greatest of cares of him; pretty darling, how sweet he looks when he’s asleep!” When the couples were once more alone, the husbands unburdened their minds to their wives. Mr. Jenkins said to his—“Do you know, Burgess tried to make me believe Hodgson was such a fool as to put paragraphs into the _Examiner_ now and then; but I see he knows his place, and has got too much sense to do any such thing.” Hodgson said—“Mary, love, I almost fancy from Jenkins’s way of speaking (so much civiler than I expected), he guesses I wrote that ‘Pro Bono’ and the ‘Rose-bud,’—at any rate, I’ve no objection to your naming it, if the subject should come uppermost; I should like him to know I’m a literary man.” Well! I’ve ended my tale; I hope you don’t think it too long; but, before I go, just let me say one thing. If any of you have any quarrels, or misunderstandings, or coolnesses, or cold shoulders, or shynesses, or tiffs, or miffs, or huffs, with any one else, just make friends before Christmas,—you will be so much merrier if you do. I ask it of you for the sake of that old angelic song, heard so many years ago by the shepherds, keeping watch by night, on Bethlehem Heights. HAND AND HEART. “Mother, I should so like to have a great deal of money,” said little Tom Fletcher one evening, as he sat on a low stool by his mother’s knee. His mother was knitting busily by the firelight, and they had both been silent for some time. “What would you do with a great deal of money if you had it?” “Oh! I don’t know—I would do a great many things. But should not you like to have a great deal of money, mother?” persisted he. “Perhaps I should,” answered Mrs. Fletcher. “I am like you sometimes, dear, and think that I should be very glad of a little more money. But then I don’t think I am like you in one thing, for I have always some little plan in my mind, for which I should want the money. I never wish for it just for its own sake.” “Why, mother! there are so many things we could do if we had but money;—real good, wise things I mean.” “And if we have real good, wise things in our head to do, which cannot be done without money, I can quite enter into the wish for money. But you know, my little boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise thing.” “No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise things just then, but only how much I should like money to do what I liked,” answered little Tom ingenuously, looking up in his mother’s face. She smiled down upon him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased with him for having told her openly what was passing in his mind. Presently he began again.