Indeed, it was one of those very confidences which had sent Mary off into her revery.
"I tell Silas that no one ever does keep Christmas just right till they get to be grand-parents like us, and have the children bringing _their_ children home to hang up their stockings in the old chimney corner.
'Peared like, that first Christmas that Silas and me spent together in our own house couldn't be happier, but it didn't hold a candle to them that came afterwards, when there was little Si and Emmy and Joe to buy toys for.

Silas says we get a triple extract out of the day now, because we not only have _our_ enjoyment of it, but what we get watching our children enjoy watching _their_ children's fun." She reached forward and with some difficulty extracted a toy from the covered basket on the floor at her feet, a wooden monkey on a stick.
"I'm just looking forward to seeing Pa's face when he drops that into Joe's baby's little sock." Her own kindly old face was a study, as she slid the grotesque monkey up and down the rod, chuckling in pleased anticipation.

And Mary, with her readiness to put herself into another's place, smiled with her, sharing sympathetically the anticipation of her return.

Straightway in her imagination, she herself was a grandmother, going home to some adoring old Silas, who had shared her joys and troubles for over half a century.
Up to this moment she had been thinking that it could not be possible for any one to have a happier Christmas than she was having.

A dozen times she had smoothed the soft fur of her boa with a caressing hand, and slipped back her glove to delight her eyes with the sight of her bloodstone ring, while her thoughts ran on ahead to the house-party towards which they were speeding.