“Really! Oh! I’m so glad; he always knows when to stop.”
“A good sermon can’t be too long,” said Helen.
“Well, I own it isn’t easy to leave off when once you get a-going. I was a brakeman five years, and know what it is to stop a train of cars. But if I was in the pulpit I’d know how to do it.”
“How?”
“Well, I’d just fix my eye on the sleepiest-looking fellow in the congregation, and the very moment his head began to nod I’d lift up my hand and say, ‘A blessing I wish you all.’” Here Helen laughed, and while she was laughing Mike added: “And I’ve sometimes thought Father H—— kept his eye on me.”
While they were thus chatting by the little stove the northwest wind went howling round the house, and Jack Frost tried his best, his very best, to get in, but did not
succeed, not even through the keyhole; for Roony was not sparing of fuel, and the stove-pipe was red hot. Indeed, ’twas rather pleasant to hear the voice of the blast and the rattling of the window-panes; while at times the whole building seemed to rise up off the rock, and then Helen would throw an uneasy glance at her husband, who would grin and say: “It’s well anchored, darling; never fear.” At length the clock struck midnight, and the children, who had been sleeping on their parents’ laps, were taken gently up and put to bed—so gently that their slumber was scarcely broken. Then husband and wife retired too; but, ere placing their heads on the pillow, they knelt and gave thanks to God for the many blessings they had enjoyed since last Christmas. Oh! sweet was the sleep which followed the prayer, and happy were their dreams; and when Christmas morning came, the sun did not rise on a happier home than this one. Scarcely had its rays flashed through the east window when Mike sprang up, and, clapping his hands, shouted: “O Helen, Helen! open your eyes and see what Santa Claus has brought you.”
Obedient to his call, Helen awoke; and sure enough, to her great surprise, discovered one of her stockings dangling from the latch of the door, and there was something in it, but what it might be she had not the least notion, nor her husband either.
“Oh! go quick and see what it is,” she said. “I’m so curious to know.”
Accordingly, Mike went to the stocking; then, plunging his hand into it, drew forth—a bottle, and on it was marked, “Whiskey.”