Greatorex.

It was the morning of Christmas Day, and little Phosy knew it in every
cranny of her soul. She was not of those who had been up all night,
and now she was awake, early and wide, and the moment she awoke she
was speculating: He was coming to-day--_how_ would he come? Where
should she find the baby Jesus? And when would he come? In the
morning, or the afternoon, or in the evening? Could such a grief be in
store for her as that he would not appear until night, when she would
be again in bed? But she would not sleep till all hope was gone. Would
everybody be gathered to meet him, or would he show himself to one
after another, each alone? Then her turn would be last, and oh, if he
would come to the nursery! But perhaps he would not appear to her at
all!--for was she not one whom the Lord did not care to chasten?

Expectation grew and wrought in her until she could lie in bed no
longer. Alice was fast asleep. It must be early, but whether it was
yet light or not she could not tell for the curtains. Anyhow she would
get up and dress, and then she would be ready for Jesus whenever he
should come. True, she was not able to dress herself very well, but he
would know, and would not mind. She made all the haste she could,
consistently with taking pains, and was soon attired after a fashion.

She crept out of the room and down the stair. The house was very
still. What if Jesus should come and find nobody awake? Would he go
again and give them no presents? She couldn't expect any herself--but
might he not let her take theirs for the rest? Perhaps she ought to
wake them all, but she dared not without being sure.

On the last landing above the first floor, she saw, by the low