"One of 'em is, anyhow. I saw it at prayers. Pull it up."
"Two of them are," said Christopher, never lifting his admiring gaze from his stockings. "Two of them are down, and two of them are up, quite up, quite tidy."
Dear Father rubbed his glass and put it back into his eye.
"Why, how many stockings have you got on?"
"Four," said Chris, smiling serenely at his legs; "and it isn't Bessy's fault. I put 'em all on myself, everyone of them."
At this minute James brought in the papers, and Father only laughed, and said, "I never saw such a chap," and began to read. He is very fond of Christopher, and Chris is never afraid of him.
I was going out of the room, and Chris followed me into the hall, and drew my attention to his legs, which were clothed in four stockings; one pair, as he said, being drawn tidily up over his knees, the other pair turned down with some neatness in folds a little above his ankles.
"Mary," he said, "I'm contented now."
"I'm very glad, Chris. But do leave off staring at your legs. All the blood will run into your head."
"I wish things wouldn't always get into my head, and nobody else's," said Chris, peevishly, as he raised it; but when he looked back at his stockings, they seemed to comfort him again.