"Tell me a story!" repeated Mr. Golong, in a tone of great surprise.
"Yes, sir, please—a Christmas story," was the reply.
"Bless my heart! what a queer idea!" said Mr. Golong, and he laughed a silent laugh that half closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose in the funniest way.
"Wouldn't you like to hear one?" asked the girl, coaxingly.
"Of course I would—I'm very fond of stories—but I don't see how I can spare the time. We're so busy just now, and likely to be until night," said Mr. Golong.
"It's only a short one," said the boy.
"A very short one," added the girl.
"Well, go ahead," said the good-natured old fellow. And he sat down on a barrel of potatoes, and his young visitors placed themselves one on each side of him.
"One Christmas-time," the boy began, "there was a big tenement-house in this city, and ten families lived in it, and every one of these families 'cept one knew they were a-going to have turkey for their Christmas dinner. They knew it sure the day before Christmas, all 'cept this one. The family that wasn't sure the day before Christmas morning lived on the top floor, and it was—it was—"
"Mrs. Todd, Neal Todd, Hetty Todd, and Puppy Todd," prompted the girl.