And blossoming chorals burst from star-bud pod:
“The Heavens declare the glory of our God!”
John Trotwood Moore.
A Caprice of Santa Claus
By Valerie Farrington.
“How long is it before Christmas, Miss Edith?” inquired Mammy Rose, bending forward to peer into the oven where two mammoth fruit cakes in the process of baking were sending out a delicious, savory odor.
“Just five days more, I am sorry to say. The yellow opera bag is still unfinished, so are the monogram handkerchiefs; these nuts must be picked for the praulines, and Agnes and I have undertaken to set the children’s doll house in order before the holidays. Rob and Jerry say we girls ought to begin to make our Christmas gifts on the 26th of December to be ready by next year.”
“Hit ’pears to me, honey, you an’ Miss Agnes with yo’ needles and paintin’ has turned out nigh ’nough contraptions fur a county fair. Sakes alive! Miss Edith!” exclaimed Mammy Rose, glancing through the window into the garden, “Look at dat big barr’l w’at Jeff’s a-bringin’ in!”
The kitchen door opened suddenly and the good-natured face and woolly head of the yard man appeared inside for a moment.