These reflections of the little clock were suddenly interrupted. The Shepherd's mother entered with a merry greeting and turned on the lights. There were many bundles lying about. She came and kissed her son and began to build a fire in the little stove. "This'll be the merriest Christmas in yer life, laddie boy," she said, as she lit the kindlings. "A great doctor has come up with the Bings to see ye. He says he'll have ye out-o'-doors in a little while." "Ho, ho! That looks like the war was nearly over," said Mr. Bloggs. Mrs. Moran did not hear the remark of the little tin soldier so she rattled on: "I went over to the station to meet 'em last night. Mr. Blenkinsop has brought us a fine turkey. We'll have a gran' dinner--sure we will--an' I axed Mr. Blenkinsop to come an' eat with us." Mrs. Moran opened the gifts and spread them on the bed. There were books and paints and brushes and clothing and silver articles and needle-work and a phonograph and a check from Mr. Bing. The little cottage had never seen a day so full of happiness. It rang with talk and merry laughter and the music of the phonograph. Mr. Blenkinsop had come in his best mood and apparel with the dog Christmas. He helped Mrs. Moran to set the table in the Shepherd's room and brought up the platter with the big brown turkey on it, surrounded by sweet potatoes, all just out of the oven. Mrs. Moran followed with the jelly and the creamed onions and the steaming coffee pot and new celery. The dog Christmas growled and ran under the bed when he saw his master coming with that unfamiliar burden. "He's never seen a Christmas dinner before. I don't wonder he's kind o' scairt! I ain't seen one in so long, I'm scairt myself," said Hiram Blenkinsop as they sat down at the table. "What's scairin' ye, man?" said the widow. "'Fraid I'll wake up an' find myself dreamin'," Mr. Blenkinsop answered. "Nobody ever found himself dreamin' at my table," said Mrs. Moran. "Grab the carvin' knife an' go to wurruk, man." "I ain't eggzac'ly used to this kind of a job, but if you'll look out o' the winder, I'll have it chopped an' split an' corded in a minute," said Mr. Blenkinsop. He got along very well with his task. When they began eating he remarked, "I've been lookin' at that pictur' of a girl with a baby in her arms. Brings the water to my eyes, it's so kind o' life like and nat'ral. It's an A number one pictur'--no mistake." He pointed at a large painting on the wall. "It's Pauline!" said the Shepherd. "Sure she's one o' the saints o' God!" the widow exclaimed. "She's started a school for the children o' them Eytalians an' Poles. She's tryin' to make 'em good Americans." "I'll never forget that night," Mr. Blenkinsop remarked. "If ye don't fergit it, I'll never mend another hole in yer pants," the widow answered. "I've never blabbed a word about it to any one but Mr. Singleton." "Keep that in yer soul, man. It's yer ticket to Paradise," said the widow.