“Git along dar!” cried Hosea, with sudden spirit, “dar ain' no oats dis side er home, en dar ain' no co'n, nurr. Git along dar! 'Tain' no use a-mincin'. Git along dar!”
The snow beat softly on the windows, and the Governor's profile was relieved, fine and straight, against the frosted glass. “Are you asleep, daughter?” he asked, turning to where the girl lay in her dark corner.
“Asleep!” She came back with a start, and caught his hand above the robe in her demonstrative way. “Why, who can sleep on Christmas Eve? there's too much to do, isn't there, mamma? Twenty stockings to fill and I don't know how many bundles to tie up. Oh, no, I shan't sleep tonight.”
“We might get up early to-morrow and do them,” suggested Virginia, nodding in her pink hood.
“You, at least, must go to bed, dear,” insisted Mrs. Ambler. “Betty and I will fix the things.”
“Indeed, you shall go to bed, mamma,” said Betty, sternly. “Papa and I shall make Christmas this year. You'll help me, won't you, papa?”
“Well, my dear, I don't see how I can help myself,” returned the Governor; “I wasn't born to be the father of a Betty for nothing.”
“Get along dar!” sang out Hosea again. “'Tain' no use a-mincin', gemmun. Dar ain' no fiddlin' roun'. Git along dar!”
Miss Lydia had fallen asleep, with her head on her breast, but the sound aroused her, and she opened her eyes and sat up very straight.
“Why, I declare I'd almost dropped off,” she said. “Are we nearly there, Peyton?”