"As I live—-" exclaimed the other.
Neither got any further, but both burst into a hearty fit of laughing.
Mrs. Morgan, Tom's mother, found voice first.
"Tom," she cried, "who or what have you gotten there?"
"Well, mother, I couldn't say—at least, not exactly. He is a sort of mitherless bairn—well, not exactly that either, because he has a mother, but no father. And you see how poor the child is. Look at his naked feet, mother and children all, and we so happy and jolly and everything. And this Christmas eve, too, mother. I thought we might—that is, I might—do some little thing for him—a supper, or anything like that—and then send him home."
"My own good-hearted Tom!" said the old lady, smiling. "And did you pick him up in the street?"
"No, not exactly in the street, mother. Fact is, he was in the grounds, and looking in at the window."
"In the grounds, Tom! Oh, do you think he was after the spoons, or—
"No, no, dear mother," interrupted the stalwart son. "He was peeping in at the dancing and the Christmas tree. He said the children were just like fairies."
"Droll boy. What is his name? Jack?—When did you see fairies?"