Hannah suddenly remembered her errand. "Ain't there, though?" she cried. "Didn't ma go and bake this gingerbread yesterday for you, and don't she say you're the best man that ever breathed?"
"Yeth, thath what," added Stubbins.
Mr. Hodgkins looked pleased. "Did she do that for me?" he asked, taking the gingerbread from Hannah, "well, your mother is a good woman."
"Thath what," assented Stubbins, "and uth kidth are nithe kidth too."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," chided Hannah, but the three laughed and the sunlight danced among the leaves. It was a bright Sunday.
"To-day," began Mr. Hodgkins, "I have opened my house for the first time in many a long year. Come with me and see what a big pleasant home I used to have."
"Ain't you got it now?" demanded Stubbins.
"No," was the response, "I have the house, my boy, but the home was lost one Christmas day."
"Lotht your home on Chrithmuth?" questioned the child.
"Come, I will show you a room that the sunlight has never shone upon since that same Christmas."