“The packin’ of the presents,” Tommy had time to think before fate overtook him.
Sitting there inside the fender he was pelted with bits of mortar and loose stones, tickled with feathers and old starlings’ nests, suffocated with falling soot, as the accumulation of years, set free by the fall of the stuffed sack, fell upon him with terrifying speed.
Then he lifted up his voice and wept, crying loudly for Mammy; a frightened little boy upon whose face soot mingled with tears as he sat there, utterly cowed, inside the high old-fashioned fender. At the cry Mrs. Tregennis rushed upstairs and burst into the room, prepared indeed for the worst, but not prepared for anything quite so bad as that which she actually found.
“’Tis just mad I be with ee, Tommy Tregennis,” and she spoke through tight lips. “There’s a horrid little sight you be and the room not fit for a Christian to sleep in, what call had you to go pokin’ up chimneys, ’n where ’m I to put you now?”
Tommy’s sobs were becoming more subdued. “Wanted to see how wide the chimberly was,” he spluttered, “’n I found Santy’s sack here for me.”
“Santy’s sack, indeed,” said an angry Mammy; “I’ll Santy’s sack you my son if you go playin’ they monkey tricks. That’s a sack to keep my grate clean, so as bits shan’t fall down, and it’s stuck there for years before we came here to live; ’n you must go pryin’ and meddlin’, you shammock, you!” Mrs. Tregennis shook Tommy as she lifted him out of the grate and over the fender. “Here’s a fine set to for your tired Mammy. Downstairs you go! Clear!”
A clean night-shirt was aired for Tommy while he had his second bath. He was then wrapped up in Daddy’s winter coat and plumped into the rocking-chair in the corner by the fire.
It took Mrs. Tregennis a good half-hour to make the bedroom fit for use and when she came downstairs again Tommy was fast asleep. Tenderly she raised him to carry him back to bed. As her arms enfolded him a long, sobbing sigh escaped from quivering lips, while a tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
“My lamb,” she murmured, “my own precious lamb! This Christmas is goin’ to be a better time ’n last, ’n you’ll have things in your stockin’, ma handsome, drum an’ all!” Having well tucked in the bed clothes Mrs. Tregennis took up the candle, and left her son to the healing of the night.