Pity for her mother's barren childhood shone in Hannah's soft black eyes. "That's—that's no way for presents to come," she explained; "Mama, it's Chris'mus."
"It is Chanuca," Mrs. Joseph responded firmly. "Remember you are a Jewess, dear."
"I can't never forget it," said the child with a catch in her voice, "'specially at Chris'mus."
"But, darling, the Jewish children have Chanuca; it comes about the same time as Christmas, and amounts to the same thing."
Hannah shook her bronze curls. "Chanuca is because the children of Israel took Jerusalem and the temple away from the bad people," she recited glibly, "and—and you say prayers, and light candles—eight days, and—and all your uncles and aunts and cousins send you things, but Santy Claus, he don't pay any 'tention to Chanuca. Chris'mus is just one day, and Santy Claus comes down the chimbley and brings things to all good children—'cept little Jews—because it is the birthday of our Saviour."
Mrs. Joseph was silent so long that Hannah felt she had convinced her mother of the superiority of the Gentile Christmas over the Jewish Chanuca, and she continued more in detail. "And the children's kinfolks just give Santy Claus money, and tell him what to buy, and he brings the presents, and nobody has to bother about it 'cept him."
"Hannah," Mrs. Joseph interrupted coldly, "who told you about the birthday of—of the Saviour?"
"Nellie Halloran," answered Hannah, "and Virginia, too. They've—they've got the same one."
"The same what?"
"The same Saviour," Hannah explained.