“Sewing!  You know I hate it.  I hate Christmas presents, too, and I shall be glad when Christmas is over.”

Betty gazed at her in such consternation that Charlotte couldn’t help laughing.  “Don’t mind me, Bettikins,” she said penitently; “I’m a cross, disagreeable thing, and I ought to know better, Only, if you love me, don’t say Christmas anywhere in my neighborhood, or I shall certainly explode into some badness.”

Betty looked puzzled, but wisely refrained from asking any questions.  “Don’t make yourself out too much of a villain,” she said with a comforting pat, “for I shan’t believe it, and I shall keep on liking you just the same.”

With a look at the twins and Molly, who were safely at work in the snow, Charlotte went up-stairs to her mother, wishing in her heart that she could take her troubles to her as other girls did to their mothers, but knowing from long experience that nothing of the kind was possible.  Mrs. Eastman had been so long an invalid that Charlotte could hardly remember the time when it had not been the first object of her father, and later of herself, to spare her mother every care and excitement.  To-day was one of Mrs. Eastman’s better days, and Charlotte found her dressed and sitting by the window when she went in with the tray.

“Why, mother, how good it seems to see you sitting up,” she said happily; “are you really feeling better?”

“Yes, really better; so much so that I thought I would give my good little daughter a pleasant surprise when she came up to see me.”

Charlotte looked at her mother with delight.  It was many weeks since she had heard that cheerful tone, had seen the blue eyes so clear, and the sweet face so untroubled.

“Oh, Mumsey, you are so pretty when you don’t have that horrid pain,” she said, setting the tray on the table and kneeling down to rest her head on her mother’s knee.

Mrs. Eastman laughed softly, and patted the tired head with a tender hand.  “I’m glad I look pretty to you,” she said.  “But where are Molly and the twins?”

“Out in the yard digging in the snow.  The boys and Betty were here this morning, and we made a grand snow-house, but no one has come back to finish up.”  Charlotte looked out as she spoke and opened the window a crack to remind Irving that he couldn’t prance around on top of the snow-house, because it wasn’t strong enough yet for such treatment.

“Don’t you believe you’ll be able to come down-stairs pretty soon?  Perhaps you can be with us on Christmas Day; oh, Mumsey,” and Charlotte glowed with delighted anticipation.  “It won’t make so very much difference, after all,” she added soberly, “for Christmas won’t be much different from any other day.”

“Yes, it will; it shall, darling,” said Mrs. Eastman.  “I know we can’t spend much money for presents, but we’ll trim the house, and we’ll have popcorn and apples and—­”

Just what her mother intended to add Charlotte never knew, for a wild shriek from the yard made her rush to the window in terror.  At first she could not tell what had happened.  Then she realized that Molly was dancing wildly around wringing her hands, that Irving’s startled face and sturdy shoulders were emerging from the ruins of the snow-house, and that no one else was in sight.