"Yes, of course," said Kat.
So they strolled on in the sunshine, and the sweetest story in the world, gray with age, yet fresh as spring-time in their hearts, made the sunshine brighter than ever before to their happy eyes.
CHAPTER XXV.
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT. FIVE YEARS LATER.
The house was lighted from attic to basement, and though it was Christmas Eve, the air was like spring, for nature sometimes turns freakish, and smiles on us when we are expecting the cold shoulder. Here and there, a window was open, for the Derings always did love plenty of air; and so a merry sound of laughter and gay voices was wafted out into the night air, and the old trees rustled joyfully, as though the sound were a familiar and happy one to them, and it did their old bones—or bark, good to hear it. Even the vines, that clambered about as gayly now as ever—only closer and thicker, tapped on the windows and nodded their leafless heads, as though in welcome, and fairly rustled with joy clear down to their aged roots, to see all the dear children at home once more.
The front door stood hospitably open, as it had always had a trick of doing, and in the wide old hall were two children, one of whom sat on the stairs, with a sober, thoughtful face, while the other, in diminutive petticoats, was trying to stand on his head against the stout bannister-post. One failure followed another, in discouraging succession, but the little fellow kept determinedly at it, in spite of bumps and thumps, and finally succeeded in hoisting his fat legs up for the briefest second imaginable, which was perfectly satisfactory, and after which he righted himself, with serenely glowing face.
"Did," he said, triumphantly; to which the judge, sitting gravely on the stairs, assented with much solemnity, and seemed to be casting about in his mind for some other feat to propose.
"Hurts," said the young tumbler, rubbing his top-knot with a mite of a hand, and glancing severely at the judge.
"Stand on this," said the judge, coming down and offering his square inch of pocket-handkerchief, which was accordingly laid down by the post. "That makes it thoft; won't hurt now. Do't over."