"Suppose we could give a Christmas dinner,—what should we have?"
"We'd have oxen roasted whole, an' honey—an'—but that's as fur as I can git."
The schoolmaster had a treasury of which she had never learned, and he said musically:—
| ... "'a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd; With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucid syrops, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spicéd dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.'" |
"Yes, that has a real nice sound. It ain't like the Bible, but it's nice."
They sat and dreamed and the fire flared up into living arabesques and burnt blue in corners. A stick parted and fell into ash, and Miss Susan came awake. She had the air of rousing herself with vigor.
"There!" said she, "sometimes I think it's most sinful to make believe, it's so hard to wake yourself up. Arter all this, I dunno but when Solon comes for the pigs' kittle to-morrer, I shall ketch myself sayin', 'Here's the frankincense!'"
They laughed together, and the schoolmaster rose to light his lamp. He paused on his way to the stairs, and came back to set it down again.
"There are lots of people we haven't provided for," he said. "We haven't even thought what we'd give Jenny."
"I guess Jenny's got her heart's desire." Miss Susan nodded sagely. "I've sent her a box, with a fruit-cake an' pickles and cheese. She's all fixed out."