“Something like it!” admitted Fred.
“How about those partridges for dinner?”
“They are all ready to put in the oven!” Edith said. “Mother knows nothing about them yet, but is sighing a little because she has no chicken for us. And you know Mrs. Spicer gave me a jar of mince-meat for the cranberries I brought her. I am a little proud of my pie, Fred!”
“Hurrah for you!” said Fred.
Somehow or other the Browns had never had a merrier Christmas than this one of the hard winter. Edith said it was all the sunshine and the green boughs; Fred said it was all Edith; but Mr. and Mrs. Brown, as they sat by the cheerful hearth, and watched the chestnuts roasting, and listened to the merry young voices, gave reverent thanks for their treasure of love, and felt that they were rich in spite of the hard times.
ON THE STEEPLE.
Weathercock, up on the steeple,
Flap your wings and crow!
Weathercock, plenty of people