Third Page of Text in Volume 2 of the 1851 George P. Putnam First Edition

CHAPTER XXIX.

As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi’ pleasure.
Kings may be blest, but they were glorious,
O’er all the ills o’ life victorious.
Burns.

Christmas morning was dawning gray, but it was still far from broad daylight, when Ellen was awakened. She found little Ellen Chauncey pulling and pushing at her shoulders, and whispering “ Ellen ! Ellen !”—in a tone that showed a great fear of waking somebody up. There she was, in nightgown and nightcap, and barefooted too, with a face brim-full of excitement and as wide awake as possible. Ellen roused herself in no little surprise and asked what the matter was.

“ I am going to look at my stocking,” whispered her visiter,—“ don’t you want to get up and come with me ? it’s just here in the other room,—come!—don’t make any noise.”

“ But what if you should find nothing in it ?” said Ellen laughingly, as she bounded out of bed.

“ Ah but I shall, I know ;—I always do;—never fear. Hush ! step ever so softly—I don’t want to wake anybody.”

“ It’s hardly light enough for you to see,” whispered Ellen, as the two little barefooted white figures glided out of the room.

“ 0 yes it is—that’s all the fun. Hush!—don’t make a bit of noise—I know where it hangs—mamma always puts it at the back of her big easy chair—come this way—here it is ! 0 Ellen ! there’s two of ’em ! There’s one for you ! there’s one for you!”

In a tumult of delight one Ellen capered about the floor on the tips of her little bare toes, while the other, not less happy, stood still for pleasure. The dancer finished by hugging and kissing her with all her heart, declaring she was so glad she didn’t know what to do.