"Mother, shall we have any Christmas this year?"
"Of course," replied Mrs. Fletcher. "Christmas comes every year, does it not?"
"Yes," returned Ethel; "but shall we keep it ourselves, I mean?"
"Certainly, we shall keep it," replied Mrs. Fletcher. "We shall go to Church as usual, and there will be nothing to prevent our decorating our rooms with evergreens, though we shall have no flowers." And Mrs. Fletcher suppressed a little sigh as she spoke. She missed her green-house more than any of the luxuries she had lost.
"Shall we have—" any presents, Ethel was going to say, but she changed her mind. "Shall we have a Christmas tree for the poor children?"
Mrs. Fletcher sighed again. "No, Ethel, that must be given up. We cannot afford it now, and we shall have to content ourselves without our usual Christmas fare. There is no money to spend on such things."
"O mother!" exclaimed Ethel. "How disappointed the children will be. It will not be like Christmas. I do not think there is any use in trying to keep it, if we are to have nothing ourselves, and nothing to give away. I wish Christmas would not come at all."
The tears which had been gathering all the afternoon would no longer be restrained, and Ethel laid her head down on the windowsill and cried bitterly,—cried as she had not done when the house was sold, or even when her chief treasure, her watch was disposed of.
Mrs. Fletcher let the tears have their way, certain that they would not last long, and she was right.
In a few moments Ethel sat up and wiped her eyes, but she repeated as she did so, "I wish Christmas was not coming at all."