a pair of thick woollen stockings, which seems a wonderful feat for a little girl only eight years old to perform!  Can you not see her sitting by the great chimney-place, filled with its roaring, crackling logs, in her quaint, short-waisted dress, knitting away steadily, and puckering up her rosy, dimpled face over the strange twists and turns of that old stocking?  I can see her, and I can also hear her sweet voice as she chatters away to her mother about “how ’sprised papa will be to find that his little girl can knit like a grown-up woman,” while Harry spreads out on the hearth a goodly store of shellbarks that he has gathered and is keeping for his share of the ’sprise.

“What if he shouldn’t come?” asks Harry, suddenly.

“Oh, he’ll come!  Papa never stays away on Christmas,” says Kitty, looking up into her mother’s face for an echo to her words.  Instead she sees something very like tears in her mother’s eyes.

“Oh, mamma, don’t you think he’ll come?”

“He will come if he possibly can,” says Mrs. Tracy; “and if he cannot, we will keep Christmas whenever dear papa does come home.”

“It won’t be half so nice,” said Kitty, “nothing’s so nice as really Christmas, and how’s Kriss Kringle going to know about it if we change the day?”

“We’ll let him come just the same, and if he brings anything for papa we can put it away for him.”

This plan, still, seemed a poor one to Miss Kitty, who went to her bed in a sober mood that night, and was heard telling her dear dollie, Martha Washington. that “wars were mis’able, and that when she married she should have a man who kept a candy-shop for a husband, and not a soldier—­no, Martha, not even if he’s as nice as papa!” As Martha made no objection to this little arrangement, being an obedient child, they were both soon fast asleep.  The days of that cold winter of 1776 wore on; so cold it was that the sufferings of the soldiers were great, their bleeding feet often leaving marks on the pure white snow over which they marched.  As Christmas drew near there was a feeling among the patriots that some blow was about to be struck; but what it was, and from whence they knew not; and, better than all, the British had no idea that any strong blow could come from Washington’s army, weak and out of heart, as they thought, after being chased through Jersey by Cornwallis.

Mrs. Tracy looked anxiously each day for news of the husband and father only a few miles away, yet so separated by the river and the enemy’s troops that they seemed like a hundred.  Christmas Eve came, but brought with it few rejoicings.  The hearts of the people were too sad to be taken up with merrymaking, although the Hessian soldiers in the town, good-natured Germans, who only fought the Americans because they were paid for it, gave themselves up to the feasting and revelry.

“Shall we hang up our stockings?” asked Kitty, in rather a doleful voice.