The machine whirred a little faster, the hands moved a little more swiftly. The sleeves of a shirt were added to the body, the band was put in place. Once Susan sighed, but so quickly did the whirring sound begin once more that the sigh reached the ears of no one but herself.
The two children sat, meanwhile, upon the settle, their school-books in their hands. But they did not study. They pondered upon what gran’pap had said. Gran’pap had brought many miracles to pass. It was possible that he would bring this heavenly one to pass also. Sometimes they whispered to each other.
When the whirring machine stopped and the mother pushed back her chair, gran’pap announced the feast ready. Susan carried the lamp from the machine to the table. She looked wretchedly tired. She rubbed her hand across her forehead, and when she sat down at the table she shielded her eyes from the light.
For once the children did not see that she was tired, for once they burst without thought into speech. Gran’pap’s promise had intoxicated them.
“Gran’pap says we will have a Christmas,” said Thomas, before he had lifted his spoon.
“With a big tree. He will cut it.”
“And with presents,” said Eliza.
“I would like a gun,” said Thomas.
“And I a locket,” said Eliza.
The mother shivered. She put her hands again to her forehead and closed her eyes.