I wish that I could know it once more.
"Ye can't look at yer stockin' yit," said Aunt Deel when I came down-stairs about eight o'clock, having slept through chore time.

I remember it was the delicious aroma of frying ham and buckwheat cakes which awoke me, and who wouldn't rise and shake off the cloak of slumber on a bright, cold winter morning with such provocation?
"This ain't no common Chris'mas--I tell ye," Aunt Deel went on.

"Santa Claus won't git here short o' noon I wouldn't wonder--ayes!" "By thunder!" exclaimed Uncle Peabody as he sat down at the table.

"This is goin' to be a day o' pure fun--genuwine an' uncommon.

Take some griddlers," he added as three or four of them fell on my plate.