"And the only house you can remember is the house on the cliff?"
"Where mother is now--yes, that's the only one, and I'm very fond of it. Are you fond of this house?"
"Yes, Moppet: one is always fond of the house in which one was born. I was born here."
Moppet looked up at him wonderingly.
"Is that very surprising?" he asked, smiling down at her.
"It seems rather surprising you should ever have been born," replied Moppet, frankly: "you are so veway old."
"Yes; but one has to begin, you see, Moppet."
"It must have been a twemendously long time ago when you and Uncle Tom began."
The explosion of a cracker startled Moppet from the meditative mood. It was the signal for the rifling of the Christmas tree. The crackers--the gold and silver and sapphire and ruby and emerald crackers--were being distributed, and were exploding in every direction before Moppet could run to the tree and hold up two tiny hands, crying excitedly, "Me, me, me!"