“Not a bit, Mr. Bluff.  I must have the whole story.”

“I declare,” said Bachelor Bluff, “there’s no whole story to tell.  A widow with children in great need, that was what I found; and they had a feast that night, and a little money to buy them a load of wood and a garment or two the next day; and they were all so bright, and so merry, and so thankful, and so good, that, when I got home that night, I was mightily amazed that, instead of going to bed sour at holidays, I was in a state of great contentment in regard to holidays.  In fact, I was really merry.  I whistled.  I sang.  I do believe I cut a caper.  The poor wretches I had left had been so merry over their unlooked-for Christmas banquet that their spirits infected mine.

“And then I got thinking again.  Of course, holidays had been miserable to me, I said.  What right had a well-to-do, lonely old bachelor hovering wistfully in the vicinity of happy circles, when all about there were so many people as lonely as he, and yet oppressed with want?  ‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed, ’to think of a man complaining of loneliness with thousands of wretches yearning for his help and comfort, with endless opportunities for work and company, with hundreds of pleasant and delightful things to do.  Just to think of it!  It put me in a great fury at myself to think of it.  I tried pretty hard to escape from myself and began inventing excuses and all that sort of thing, but I rigidly forced myself to look squarely at my own conduct.  And then I reconciled my confidence by declaring that, if ever after that day I hated a holiday again, might my holidays end at once and forever!

“Did I go and see my proteges again?  What a question!  Why—­well, no matter.  If the widow is comfortable now, it is because she has found a way to earn without difficulty enough for her few wants.  That’s no fault of mine.  I would have done more for her, but she wouldn’t let me.  But just let me tell you about New Year’s—­the New-Year’s day that followed the Christmas I’ve been describing.  It was lucky for me there was another holiday only a week off.  Bless you!  I had so much to do that day I was completely bewildered, and the hours weren’t half long enough.  I did make a few social calls, but then I hurried them over; and then hastened to my little girl, whose face had already caught a touch of colour; and she, looking quite handsome in her new frock and her ribbons, took me to other poor folk, and,—­well, that’s about the whole story.

“Oh, as to the next Christmas.  Well, I didn’t dine alone, as you may guess.  It was up three stairs, that’s true, and there was none of that elegance that marked the dinner of the year before; but it was merry, and happy, and bright; it was a generous, honest, hearty Christmas dinner, that it was, although I do wish the widow hadn’t talked so much about the mysterious way a turkey had been left at her door the night before.  And Molly—­that’s the little girl—­and I had a rousing appetite.  We went to church early; then we had been down to the Five Points to carry the poor outcasts there something for their Christmas dinner; in fact, we had done wonders of work, and Molly was in high spirits, and so the Christmas dinner was a great success.