“They ’ve shut up the chimbley.” She moved a fat hand toward the fireplace—“I cried about it,” she explained, “and then I went to sleep—I prayed too, but that did n’t do any good,” she threw in. “And then I waked up in the dark and ’membered you, and that’s how I come.” She nestled to him.
His arms were close around her. “You shall stay till the clock strikes twelve—that’s when he comes—”
She nodded sagely.
“And then I ’ll carry you home.”
She sank back with a little sigh of content. The pink toes cuddled themselves in the warm folds and the moist eyes rested dreamily on the coals.
Simeon, holding her in his arms, had a sense of life—its goodness and fullness. The loneliness had fled from the little room. It was filled with love, and the world outside was full of friendliness—It held them close.
The child stirred a little. “We did n’t hung up my stocking,” she said drowsily.
Simeon looked down at the stocking steaming with faint warmth from the fire. “It ’s too wet,” he said.
She roused herself and sat up—“Don’t I have no stockings?” she demanded.
He hesitated. Then he got up and brought one of his own and suspended it from the corner of the shelf.