"I crawled in behind there to see if there mightn't be a place somewhere for these," explained Ely, hastening for the torch, and proceeding to light up.
The pine tree now saw itself reflected in the great mirror opposite, and echoed the "splendid" of the three girls, who clapped their hands at the gorgeous effect. Then the lights were put out. The silver key was turned in the door again, and the girls went away, leaving the pine tree in darkness indeed.
The four small Eliots, after pinning up their stockings by the chimney, seated themselves in their night-gowns on the hearth-rug, and talked over St. Nicholas before they got into bed. Each agreed to wake the others if he "should just but catch Santa Claus coming down the chimney."
Chrissy, squinting up his eyes till nothing but two little lines of black lashes were visible, was sure "he should catch him; O, yes, he should."
So they all climbed sleepily into bed, pinning their faith on Chrissy.
The night darkened and deepened, the stars moving on in a grand procession. Somewhere about midnight St. Nicholas was off on his ride, galloping over the roof-tops, and knocking at every chimney-top that had a knocker, just getting through at day dawn with the deal he had to do. The "eight tiny reindeer" had barely trotted him out of sight, when thousands of little children in thousands of homes began hopping out of bed to look in their stockings.
The Christmas morning was breaking in joy and gladness, as if the dear Christ Child of eighteen hundred years ago were newly born that day. Little children, and old men, and maidens waked to give good gifts and greetings to each other, remembering whom the good Father in heaven had given to them on that first glad Christmas morn.
In an attic in Bone Court, Mike Slattery, wildly staring about him, bolted up in bed, waked by big Winnie, and little Pat, and Jimmy roaring "Merry Christmas" in his ears.
"Oop, Mike, an' tak' a look at Winnie's Christmas fixin's foreninst yer two eyes," piped Jimmy, flapping the little breeches he was too excited to put on at the little pine branches stuck up thickly in the window.
"Isn't yer fut that better ye might hobble up to see what the good gintleman--him as brought ye home--left behind for yees and us arl--the Christmas things, ye'll mind?" inquired Winnie, combing her tangled auburn locks, and stooping compassionately over Mike.