The judge, in his hearty, old-fashioned, thoughtless hospitality, would have had Reuben and his family come and stop at his own house.  But Reuben Gray, with all his simplicity, had the good sense firmly to decline this invitation and keep to his tavern.

“For you know, Hannah, my dear,” he said to his wife, when they found themselves again, at the Plow, “we would bother the family more’n the judge reckoned on.  What could they do with us?  Where could they put us?  As to axing of us in the drawing room or sitting of us down in the dining room, with all his fine, fashionable friends, that wasn’t to be thought on!  And as to you being put into the kitchen, along of the servants, that I wouldn’t allow!  Now the judge, he didn’t think of all these things:  but I did; and I was right to decline the invitation, don’t you think so?”

“Of course you were, Reuben, and if you hadn’t declined it, I would, and that I tell you,” answered Mrs. Gray.

“And so, Hannah, my dear, we will just keep our Christmas where we are!  We won’t deprive Ishmael of his grand Christmas dinner with his grand friends; but we will ax him to come over and go to the playhouse with us and see the play, and then we’ll all come back and have a nice supper all on us together.  We’ll have a roast turkey and mince pie and egg-nog and apple toddy, my dear, and make a night of it, once in a way!  What do you think?”

“I think that will be all very well, Reuben, so that you don’t take too much of that same egg-nog and apple toddy,” replied Mrs. Gray.

“Now, Hannah, did you ever know me to do such a thing?” inquired Reuben, with an injured air.

“No, Reuben, I never did.  But I think that a man that even so much as touches spiritable likkers is never safe until he is in his grave,” said Mrs. Gray solemnly.

“Where he can never get no more,” sighed Reuben; and as he had to attend the market to sell his turkeys that night, he left Hannah and went to put his horses to the wagon.

So fine a trade did Reuben drive with his fat turkeys that he came home at ten with an empty wagon and full pocketbook, and told Hannah that she might have a new black silk “gownd,” and Sally should have a red calico “un,” and as for the children, they should have an outfit from head to foot.

Christmas morning dawned gloriously.  All the little Middleton’s were made happy by the fruit of the Christmas tree.  In the many kind interchanges of gifts Ishmael was not entirely forgotten.  Some loving heart had remembered him.  Some skillful hand had worked for him.  When he went up to his room after breakfast on Christmas morning, he saw upon his dressing table a packet directed to himself.  On opening it he found a fine pocket-handkerchief neatly hemmed and marked, a pair of nice gloves, a pair of home-knit socks, and a pair of embroidered slippers.  Here was no useless fancy trumpery; all were useful articles; and in the old-fashioned, housewifely present Ishmael recognized the thoughtful heart and careful hand of Bee, and grateful, affectionate tears filled his eyes.  He went below stairs to a back parlor, where he felt sure he should find Bee presiding over the indoor amusements of her younger brothers and sisters.