The parting voice of the Scotch Preacher still booms in my ears:
"This," said he, as he was going out of our door, wrapped like an Arctic
highlander in cloaks and tippets, "has been a day of pleasant bread."
One of the very pleasantest I can remember!
I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. We try to crowd
into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year.
As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through
the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays--let them overtake me
unexpectedly--waking up some fine morning and suddenly saying to myself:
"Why, this is Christmas Day!"
How the discovery makes one bound out of his bed! What a new sense of
life and adventure it imparts! Almost anything may happen on a day like
this--one thinks. I may meet friends I have not seen before in years.
Who knows? I may discover that this is a far better and kindlier world
than I had ever dreamed it could be.
[Illustration: "Merry Christmas, Harriet!"]
So I sing out to Harriet as I go down:
"Merry Christmas, Harriet"--and not waiting for her sleepy reply I go
down and build the biggest, warmest, friendliest fire of the year. Then
I get into my thick coat and mittens and open the back door.
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