“I thought she was coming in at the window,” Roger ended. “If—if you look out—it’s moonlight—I think p’r’aps you’ll see where she stands. But no, no! Don’t, don’t! She might see you.”
So Lawson agreed to wait till to-morrow.
“I have an idea,” said Lawson. “Roger, darling, go to sleep. I’m here, and you can say your prayers again if you like.”
Lawson was up very early next morning. And as soon as breakfast was over he told Roger to come out with him. Down the Primrose Lane they went, in spite of Roger’s trembling.
“Now, shut your eyes,” said Lawson, when they got to the gate. He opened it, and led his brother through.
“Look, now!” he said, with a merry laugh. And what do you think Roger saw?
An old scarecrow, forgotten since last year. There she stood, the “Snow Witch,” an apron and ragged shawl, two sticks for arms, a bit of Grandpapa’s hat, to crown all—that was the witch!
“Shake hands with her, Roger,” said Lawson. And shake hands they both did, till the old scarecrow tumbled to pieces, never more to frighten either birds or little boys. “Dear Lawson,” said Roger, lovingly, as he held up his little face for a kiss. And happy, indeed, were the rest of the Christmas holidays.
May they never love each other less, these two; may they be true brothers in manhood as they have been in their childish days!