"Merry Christmas!" echoed Mr. Sim meekly; "though if your laigs was as bad as mine, Calvin, you might think different. If I get through this winter—what you got there?"
"Slippers!" said Calvin. "Christmas present from Sam. Wants you to wear 'em and save shoe-leather."
"The failin's of Sam'l's mind," said Mr. Sim gravely, "are growin' on him ekal to those of his body. Shoe-leather! when I ain't stepped foot outside the door since Ma died. But they are handsome, certin; you may thank him for me, Calvin."
"May!" said Calvin. "That's a sweet privilege, no two ways about that. Hello! what in Tunkett—" he stopped, abruptly, staring. "Splice my halyards if you haven't got a red one!" Mr. Sim glanced down with shy pride at his waistcoat.
"Christmas Day, you know, Calvin!" he said. "We allers made some little change in our dress, sir, for Christmas dinner. I thought 'twould please Ma, and Cousin, and—and the other one, too!" he added, with a furtive glance toward the door.
"Well, I am blowed!" said Calvin Parks plaintively. "I certinly am this time. You boys is too much for me."
Mr. Sim coughed modestly, and cast another coy glance at the red waistcoat. "How is poor Sam'l this mornin', Calvin?" he asked mournfully. "Do you find him changed much of any?"
"I do not!" said Calvin. "He's just about as handsome, and just about as takin' as he was last time, fur as I see."
"Ah!" sighed Mr. Sim. "You don't see below the surface, Cal."
"Nor don't wish to!" retorted Calvin. "That's quite sufficient for me."