But then, if you want to surprise her--I s'pose she _will_ be dreadful tickled--I guess I'll manage it someways." Perhaps Miss Jane was softened into being obliging by her coming holiday; or perhaps the mournful, longing words touched something in her that nothing touched very often.
Gypsy and Joy were not so old but that Christmas Eve with its little plans for the morrow held yet a certain shade of that delightful suspense and mystery which perhaps never hangs about the greater and graver joys of life.

I fancy we drink it to the full, in the hanging up of stockings, the peering out into the dark to see Santa Claus come down the chimney (perfectly conscious that that gentleman is the most transparent of hoaxes, but with a sort of faith in him all the while; we _may_ see him if we can lie awake long enough--who knows ?) the falling asleep before we know it, and much against our will, the waking in the cold, gray, mysterious dawn, and pattering about barefoot to "catch" the dreaming and defenseless family.
"I'm going to lie awake all night," Gypsy announced, as she stood brushing out her bright, black hair; "then I'll catch you, you see if I don't." "But I'm going to lie awake, too," said Joy.

"I was going to last Christmas, only--I didn't." "Sit up and see the sun dance, like Patty." "Well, let's.

I never was awake all night in my whole life." "Nor I," said Gypsy.

"I came pretty near it once, but I somehow went to sleep along at the end." "When was that ?" "Why, one time I had a dream, and went clear over to the Kleiner Berg Basin, in my sleep, and got into the boat." "You did!" "I guess I did.