he—awoke,—to find he had tumbled out of bed, and that it was Christmas morn indeed. And there was little Cis, sitting up in her bed, and there were the stockings with their bulging sides; and Hal rubbed his eyes and wondered if he were awake or dreaming. But he and Cis hastened to dive into their stockings, to see what Santa Claus had put into them, and, what treasures they found!
For Cis there was a big doll, dressed like an angel, and fairy-like small ones, and beautiful furniture for her doll’s house, and a book with pictures of all kinds of birds and insects.
And in Hal’s, what treasures for his collection! Rare birds’ eggs in little glass-covered boxes, precious bits of many-coloured ores; and from the Terraces, about which his mother had often told him, were specimens of white encrusted sticks and delicate ferns. How he longed to put them in his cabinet with his other treasures!
But when Hal talked to Cis about Santa Claus and their night’s travels, she laughed and said,—
“You must have been dreaming, Hal, or perhaps the treasures in the stockings whispered it all in your ear,” which Hal indignantly denied.
“For I know it was real,” he said.
But the Bell-birds were singing their Christmas chime in the bush, and the morning sun was gilding the tree-ferns and the waves, and their mother’s voice was calling, “A happy Christmas, children! a happy Christmas!”
And whose was that other voice that called out the words too?
“Father! father!” cried the little ones eagerly, tearfully, as they rushed into the outstretched arms of their mother and father too!
Yes, it was a happy Christmas morn, indeed, for the sea had brought its living to their home. And as the children sat that evening in the little low room, their father told them of the shipwreck, of his life on an island with one other, carried like himself to its shores, and of their joy when a passing vessel sighted them and brought them home at last.