their father, who had just come down.

"Merry Christmas, girlies!" he cried, and just then everybody came down,
almost all at once, and the greetings flew about, as thick as a
snowstorm. Grandma Sherwood, in her soft grey breakfast-gown, beamed
happily at her brood of grandchildren, and soon they all gathered round
the table.

"I wish Christmas was seventy-two hours long, said Marjorie, whose
candies had not taken away her appetite for the specially fine breakfast
that was being served in honor of the day.

"But you'd fall asleep after twelve hours of it," said Uncle Steve; "so
what good would it do you?"

"I wouldn't!" declared King. "I could spend twelve hours having our
regular Christmas in the house; and then twelve more outdoors, skating or
something; and then twelve more--"

"Eating," suggested his father, glancing at King's plate. "Well, since we
can't have seventy-two hours of it, we must cram all the fun we can into
twelve. Who's for a run out of doors before we have our Christmas tree?"
The three older children agreed to this, and with Mr. Maynard and Uncle
Steve they went out for a brisk walk.

"Wish we could snowball," said King, as they returned, and stood for a
few moments on the verandah. "It's cold enough, but there no sign of
snow."

"Pooh, you don't have to have snow to play a game of snowballs!" said his