“‘There’s your mother knocking, Sue,’ said Roswald. ‘Run off, and I’ll take care of these fish. You get ready for breakfast.’
“Sue went off in one direction, and Roswald in another. He was the first to come back, with a beautifully cleaned fish, which he soon had upon the coals. He went on to set the table, and get the bread and the tea; and by that time Sue came, as happy and as humble as possible, to enjoy her breakfast. Whether or not Roswald had had another breakfast before, he at any rate kept her company in hers, both talking and eating. The fish was declared to be the finest that could come out of the sea, and Roswald was probably adjudged to be the best cook on land; if he had been, his work could not have given better satisfaction.
“Roswald had to go away after breakfast, and told Sue his mother would want him at dinner, and he could not be there again before evening; but then he would come. Sue was satisfied with everything.
“Her day was spent for the most part up stairs. But there were some breaks to it. A servant came in the course of the morning, bringing some bottles of wine for her mother, from Mrs. Halifax. Sue was already in a state of happiness that could hardly be heightened, and was in fact endeavouring to bear it with the help of her Bible, for it was in her hand whenever she came down stairs. But her eyes sparkled afresh at this gift, because it came from Mrs. Halifax, and because it was what her mother wanted. Sue could not wait. She begged the man to open one of the bottles for her; which with no little difficulty was done, without a corkscrew; and then, when he had gone, Sue poured out a little into a teacup, and went up stairs with such a face—joy and love were dancing a waltz in it.
“A little before noon there came another knock at the door. A modest knock this was, so gentle that Sue probably did not hear it. The knocker had not patience, or was not scrupulous; he opened the door halfway, and pushed in a square wooden box, nailed up and directed; after which he went away again, leaving it to tell its own tale.
“It seemed to tell nothing that Sue could understand. She looked at it, when next she came down, with all her eyes, and on all sides; but it was fast nailed up; she could not by any means open it, and she could not tell what was inside. She easily guessed that it was another ‘Christmas;’ but in what form? She sat and looked at it, with a face of infinite delight. She walked round it. Nothing was to be made of it but a pine-box, tolerably heavy, with her own name and her father’s in large black letters on the upper side. Those letters did look lovely. Sue read them a great many times that day, and sat and gazed at the wooden box; but she could do nothing with it till Roswald came. He came at last, towards the edge of the evening. Sue was watching for him.
“‘O Roswald, there you are!—here’s another!’
“‘Another what?’ said Roswald, gravely.
“‘Another Christmas—look here.’
“‘Looks very like Christmas,’ said Roswald.