Very softly he carried his treasure into the cottage. Looking for somewhere to put the bags, an idea struck him and he hung them in a row on the nails in the high mantelshelf, over the great open hearth. How pleased Uncle Bill would be: what a wonderful Christmas surprise!
And with that thought it struck Danny how good it was of God to have let him find the missing money for his uncle. He glanced at the clock. A quarter to twelve it said. Aunt Bridget had said he should go to midnight Mass and pray for their luck to come back. Now he could do better than that, he could go and thank God for having given it back!
Putting on his cap once more, he hurried out along the snowy path, and turned into the warm, lighted church. Never had he thanked God so fervently for anything. But soon he forgot all about the money, in the wonderful sense of Christmas morning, and the new realization of the Little Christ born to be the Brother and the Saviour of men.
Very sleepily he stumbled home, and curled up on the rug before the red glow of smouldering logs.
. . . . . . . .
“How soundly he sleeps,” said Uncle Bill, the next morning as he lighted the lamp and bent over Danny. Bridget laughed, and shook him by the shoulders. Danny opened his eyes and sat up. His first thought was to look up at the mantelpiece. Yes, there hung the bags.
“Thank God,” he said, “I was afraid it was a dream.”
Bill and Bridget looked up too. “What are they?” said Bill, a puzzled expression on his face, “plum puddings?”
Danny laughed. “No, no,” he said. “Look!”
He unhooked a bag, and shook out the shining contents on to the rabbit skin rug. The sovereigns gleamed and glinted in the lamplight. Bill and Bridget stood speechless. Then Danny explained all that had happened.