“That’s enough for to-night,” said Mrs. Darling, looking at his flushed cheeks. “Just put your seal to it.”
The little boy solemnly wrote “Rex,” just as he had seen it done in books, and handed the paper to Mrs. Darling with a smile.
“It will be a—a glorious—Christmas,” he said bravely; “just a glorious one!” Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, for he was suddenly very tired.
******
Have you ever awakened on Christmas morning, with the cold clear sunlight slanting across your floor, and the blue sky peeking in your window, and yet not even felt the least bit glad it was Christmas? The little boy opened his eyes and looked around as though he half expected to see a bursting stocking, and to hear his moth— He jerked over on his side. Even if it was Christmas morning, what was to prevent a fellow from taking another nap! But something hot and wet slid down his cheek, before he could stop it, and, as long as there wasn’t any one around, it didn’t make so much difference. But the little boy brushed it angrily away and sat up in bed.
“Merry Christmas!” he said fiercely to the table in the corner. “Merry Christmas!” and he lay back on his pillows with his eyes fixed on the ceiling and his lip between his teeth. Somebody was whistling in the lower corridor. He could hear it quite distinctly, and it sounded so glad and cheerful that the little boy slid to the floor, although his legs wabbled under him, and opened the door.
“Hullo, down there!” he called over the banisters. “Merry Christmas!”
“Hullo, up there!” came back old Patrick’s crackled voice. “Merry Christmas, Your Majesty.”
The little boy laughed out loud.
“Patrick, Patrick, do come up! How did you know to call me that?”