"There, there, my child. You are a baby--a mere baby!" said the Iron
King, as he patted her on the head and left her.

This interview occurred a few days before Christmas.

It was now Christmas morning, nearly four years after the departure of
Rule Rothsay. It was a fine clear, cold day. Bright with color was the
village of North End, where all the houses were decorated with holly,
and the people, in their Sunday clothes, were out in the streets on
their way to the church, which had been beautifully decorated for the
occasion.

The Rockharrt family--with the exception of old Aaron Rockharrt, who did
not choose to turn out that day, and Miss Rose Flowers, who stayed home
to keep him company and to wait on him--came early in their capacious
and comfortable family carriage. They had a large, square, handsomely
upholstered pew in the right-hand upper corner of the church.

When they were all quietly settled in their seats and the voluntary was
going on, the elders of the party bowed their heads to offer up their
preliminary prayers. But Cora, girl-like, looked about her, letting her
glances wander over the well-filled pews, and then up toward the
galleries. A moment later she suddenly gave a little start and
half-suppressed exclamation of delight.

Mrs. Rockharrt, who had finished her prayer, looked around in surprise
at the girl, who had committed this unusual indecorum.

"Oh, grandma, it is Rule! Rule, up there in the boys' gallery--look!"
Cora whispered, in eager delight.