--"Haven't I!" (And exit, anxious to know the amount of the coin
which has just changed hands.)
He is gone, and as the dear boy vanishes through the door (behind
which I see him perfectly), I too cast up a little account of our past
Christmas week. When Bob's holidays are over, and the printer has sent
me back this manuscript, I know Christmas will be an old story. All
the fruit will be off the Christmas tree then; the crackers will have
cracked off; the almonds will have been crunched; and the sweet-bitter
riddles will have been read; the lights will have perished off the
dark green boughs; the toys growing on them will have been distributed,
fought for, cherished, neglected, broken. Ferdinand and Fidelia will
each keep out of it (be still, my gushing heart!) the remembrance of
a riddle read together, of a double-almond munched together, and the
moiety of an exploded cracker. . . . The maids, I say, will have taken
down all that holly stuff and nonsense about the clocks, lamps, and
looking-glasses, the dear boys will be back at school, fondly thinking
of the pantomime-fairies whom they have seen; whose gaudy gossamer wings
are battered by this time; and whose pink cotton (or silk is it?) lower
extremities are all dingy and dusty.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148