"I say, brother, how are the days going--it must be nearly the end of December now, eh ?" Fritz thought for a moment.
He was the methodical member of the family and had always been looked up to as having the best memory for dates at home.
"Himmel!" he exclaimed.

"What day do you think it is ?" "I'm sure I can't imagine," replied Eric.

"All the days go alike here; why, it seems more than a year already since good Captain Brown left us, although I know it's only a few months." "Only, think, Eric, it is--" "No, never!" said the lad, interrupting his brother and guessing that the answer he was going to give would confirm his own conjecture.

"It cannot be, really, eh ?" While saying this, Eric stopped abruptly as they were entering the little grove of buckthorn trees, where the thrushes and finches were hopping about amongst their branches as merry as grigs in the sunshine; for, the weather was as warm as our June, although it was then December--the seasons in southern latitudes being the reverse of what we are accustomed to in Europe.
"Yes, you've guessed right, laddie," replied Fritz, looking into his face with a smile.

"It is, without doubt, Christmas Day!" "What, to-day ?" said Eric, incredulous in spite of himself.
"Yes, to-day," repeated his brother.
"Well, that is wonderful!" exclaimed Eric; adding a moment afterwards, however, in a tone of the greatest dismay, "only think, though, we haven't prepared a Christmas tree, or anything!" "Never mind," said Fritz consolingly.