“Oh, I'd rather go to bed,” said Phronsie, trying to tuck up her feet in the little flannel night-gown, which was rather short, “but I don't know the way back, Polly. Take me, Polly, do,” and she put up her arms to be carried.
“Oh, I ain't a-goin' back alone, either,” whimpered Joel, coming up to Polly, too.
“Why, you came down alone, didn't you?” whispered Polly, with a little laugh.
“Yes, but I thought 'twas morning,” said Joel, his teeth chattering with something beside the cold.
“Well, you must think of the morning that's coming,” said Polly, cheerily. “I'll tell you—you wait till I put Phronsie into the crib, and then I'll come back and go half-way up the stairs with you.”
“I won't never come down till it's mornin' again,” said Joel, bouncing along the stairs, when Polly was ready to go with him, at a great rate.
“Better not,” laughed Polly, softly. “Be careful and not wake Davie nor Ben.”
“I'm in,” announced Joel, in a loud whisper; and Polly could hear him snuggle down among the warm bedclothes. “Call us when 'tis mornin', Polly.”
“Yes,” said Polly, “I will; go to sleep.”
Phronsie had forgotten stockings and everything else on Polly's return, and was fast asleep in the old crib. The result of it was that the children slept over, when morning did really come; and Polly had to keep her promise, and go to the foot of the stairs and call—“MERRY CHRISTMAS! oh, Ben! and Joel! and Davie!”