"It hasn't anything to do with Sunday," said Mr. Olds. "It only happens so."

"Becky says," went on Jacob, "that she's always glad when Christmas comes on Sunday, and when I asked her why, she said because somebody she knew about was born on Christmas, and liked Sunday. I don't think that's much."

At this moment Becky herself, the old nurse, appeared in the doorway to lead the children to bed. They went frolicking upstairs, and Mr. and Mrs. Olds were left alone. Mrs. Olds stitched on in silence for a moment, and then looked timidly at her husband, who sat behind the newspaper.

"My heart misgives me, Jacob," said she. "I don't know, I sometimes think it would be better if the children were to know - to know something about what people generally know what they read in the Bible."

"Becky hasn't been telling them any stories out of the Bible, has she?" asked Mr. Olds, impatiently. "I told her when she came, that if I ever found her telling religious stuff to my children, she should leave at once. I'm not going to have her putting nonsense into their heads. I intend they shall grow up rationally and make up their minds for themselves, without any prejudice."

"I don't think she has," said his wife, with a doubtful look on her face. "You see how she checked herself when Jaky asked her about Christmas. She feels pretty badly, though, about it."

"Let her," said Mr. Olds, pushing his spectacles hard down on his nose. "It's not her concern, at least."

Becky had taken the three children to the room in which they all slept in their little beds, and had tucked them in, and then, as was her wont, had got down upon her poor old knees and prayed hastily within herself that the Lord would bless the darlings, and send somebody to teach them; while the children, as usual, kept still, because Becky was looking under the beds, as they thought, to see if anybody was there, and their little hearts were always in a little fright till Becky got up again and kissed them, and told them that they might go to sleep, for somebody was watching over them, and would keep them safe; and as they always found Becky there when they woke up, they had no doubt she was the Somebody, and Peter when he heard Becky say somebody was watching over them, secretly thought that Becky herself climbed up on the bed-post and sat there all night, where she could see them all, and could keep off danger.

But this night the children were wide awake, and begged Becky to stay and tell them a story, or sing a song. The poor old thing had her head full of Bible stories and hymns, but she had been forbidden to tell them to the children, and so she had to fall back on the days of her childhood, when she lived in a little village of England.

"Tell us what you used to do when you were a little girl,” said John.

"Sing us a song," said Peter.

"I know," said little Jacob; "tell us about Christmas, Becky. Tell us about the man that had his birthday then, and liked Sunday. You know” —

"Who was it? " asked Peter.

"It was somebody," began poor Becky, at her wit's end how to tell what she longed to tell, without disobeying, and so making a sad mystery of it all.

"O, was it Somebody," cried Peter, "Somebody who watches over us? But you're a

woman, Becky."

"The dear child," said the puzzled old body, If I was only a man, like old Parson Dawes that used to be ".

SO

I am.

"Tell us about Parson Dawes," struck in John, who thought they were not getting on with a story.

"Well, I will," said old Becky, suddenly brightening up," and I'll just tell you about what Parson Dawes did when I was a little girl. Parson Dawes he was a good man, a very good man, but he hadn't no children of his own, and so says he one Christmas time to the chorister, that's my father, children "

"O Becky, you're making up," said Peter; "you haven't got any father."

"But I had one, Peter, when I was a little girl."

"Was it Somebody?" asked John, who thought that Becky was always making believe when she spoke of Somebody.

6

"The dear children," murmured the old woman. "Says he, says Parson Dawes to my father, Simon,' he says, they used to have a custom for children to go about Christmas Eve and sing carols. Now, you just teach the children to sing one, and I'll go round with the children myself and sing it.' He was a nice old man, Parson Dawes, but folks thought he was rather queer, p'raps because he didn't have no children of his own. So my father, he taught us children a carol which Parson Dawes he gave him; and sure enough we went round, and Parson Dawes he went with us, and we sang, and we sang - O, it was beautiful," and

nurse Becky, forgetting everything except what she was remembering, and forgetting her own poor cracked old voice, piped out to a sweet air the words:

"God rest you, merry gentlemen,

Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,

Was born upon this day,
To save us all from Satan's power,
When we were gone astray.

"In Bethlehem, in Jewry,

This blessed babe was born,

And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn;
The which his mother, Mary,
Nothing did take in scorn.

"From God, our Heavenly Father,
A blessed angel came,
And unto certain shepherds
Brought tidings of the same,
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by name.

"Fear not, then said the angel,
Let nothing you affright,
This day is born a Saviour

Of virtue, power, and might;

So frequently to vanquish all
The friends of Satan quite.

"The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoicéd much in mind,