“Same as ever,” said his mother; “it can't be Christmas all the time.”
“I wish 'twas,” said little Davie; “forever and ever!”
“Forever an' ever,” echoed little Phronsie, flying up, her cheeks like two pinks, and Seraphina in her arms with her bonnet on upside down.
“Dear, dear,” said Polly, pinching Ben to keep still as they tumbled down the little rickety steps to the Provision Room, after breakfast. The children, content in their treasures, were holding high carnival in the kitchen. “Suppose they should find it out now—I declare I should feel most awfully. Isn't it elegant?” she asked, in a subdued whisper, going all around and around the tree, magnificent in its dress of bright red and yellow balls, white festoons, and little candle-ends all ready for lighting. “Oh, Ben, did you lock the door?”
“Yes,” he said. “That's a mouse,” he added, as a little rustling noise made Polly stop where she stood back of the tree and prick up her ears in great distress of mind. “'Tis elegant,” he said, turning around in admiration, and taking in the tree which, as Polly said, was quite “gorgeous,” and the evergreen branches twisted up on the beams and rafters, and all the other festive arrangements. “Even Jappy's isn't better, I don't believe!”
“I wish Jappy was here,” said Polly with a small sigh.
“Well, he isn't,” said Ben; “come, we must go back into the kitchen, or all the children will be out here. Look your last, Polly; 'twon't do to come again till it's time to light up.”
“Mammy says she'd rather do the lighting up,” said Polly. “Had she?” said Ben, in surprise; “oh, I suppose she's afraid we'll set somethin' a-fire. Well, then, we shan't come in till we have it.”
“I can't bear to go,” said Polly, turning reluctantly away; “it's most beautiful—oh, Ben,” and she faced him for the five-hundredth time with the question, “is your Santa Claus dress all safe?”
“Yes,” said Ben, “I'll warrant they won't find that in one hurry! Such a time as we've had to make it!”