"You're a prime one!" says he. "Thy dear _Mother_ has no Strength to handle me, though the Will's ne'er a-wanting; and I can't bear her to move me for fear of her doing herself a Hurt. As for _Prue_, she does nought but sit by the Fire and sigh! But thou'rt able and willing both, _Patty_; so keep about me all you can." I promised him I would, and he soon became again quiet. _Prudence_ presently stole in; and in dumb Show bade me go down to sup with my _Mother_. As my _Father_ seemed sleeping, I did so, and had a long Talk with dear _Mother_; after which, I prevailed with her to sleep with _Prue_, and let me keep Watch, assuring her I was quite fresh. She consented at length, from sheer Incapacity to hold out any longer; and, after a good Meal, I went up and took my Sister's Place. Shortly, the House became perfectly silent, and the distant Clocks struck Twelve. I sate by the Fire, musing on many Things and Persons, and a good deal of Mr. _Fenwick_; and, before I was aware, large Tears were quietly rolling down my Face. I was not pleased with my late Conduct of my own Mind, and resolved on more Self-control and Self-discipline. While framing these seasonable Resolutions, a Strain of low, sweet, solemn Music stole through the Air. The Christmas Waits were playing beneath some distant Window, and at the End of their soft Melody, I could make out by the Rhythm, though not by the Articulation, the poor Musicians crying out: "_The Chelsea Waits make bold to call, Good-morrow to you; Masters and Mistresses all._" I dreaded their waking my _Father_ as they drew nearer, but there was no Help for it. I rested my Head against the high Back of the Nursing-chair, in a Kind of dreamy, lazy Luxury, listening to the lovely Sounds; and called to Mind the old Text, "Ye shall have a Song in the Night; as when some holy Solemnity is kept." Ah, thought I, we are apt to fancy ourselves in the Blackness of Darkness, when any Sorrow or Bereavement comes over us, and yet our good GOD sends us a Song in the Night!--The poor Shepherds in the Fields of _Bethlehem_ lay watching their Flocks by Night, when all seemed dark and dreary, but suddenly a Light shone upon them, and they heard sweet Music in the Air, even sweeter than that which I hear now. Then I thought of the Manger, and the holy Child, and the Mother; and the wise Men following the Star. The Folds of the Window-curtains were a little apart, and I could see the Stars glimmering. All at once, my _Father_, in a hurried Voice, exclaims, "They're moving now!" "What, dear _Father_?" said I softly, looking in on him. "Cover them up! cover them up!" cries he rapidly; "tie their Legs, or they'll set my Head spinning--Hey, diddle diddle! the Cat plays the Fiddle; and the Shepherdess is _gavotting_ with the Turnspit! Lock 'em up, I say! Dash them in Pieces! Break them!"