IT was the day before the day before Christmas, and there came a big snowstorm, so that Kenneth and Rose were shut up in the house. Now that was a very hard thing to bear, for as every one knows, the last two days before Christmas are the longest, slowest days in the whole year. But if one has to stay in the house and just think, it seems as though the time would never go by.

 

If it had been a pleasant day they could have gone out of doors to skate, or to coast, or to play any number of jolly games which they now remembered sadly. Perhaps they would have gone to their cousin Charlie’s house, which was in the next block but one beyond theirs. Perhaps their papa would have taken[2] them down town for a last look at the Christmas shops, and the wonderful toys, some of which they hoped Santa Claus would remember to bring to the Thornton house. There were ever so many nice things which they could have done to make the time pass away, if only it had been a pleasant day. But now there seemed nothing in the world to do.

 

Kenneth and Rose wandered dismally² about the house. They peeped into the play-room, where the toys were lying about looking very lonely, as though they would say,—

 

“O Kenneth! Do come and play with us. Please, Rosie, don’t go away and leave us all alone!”

 

But Kenneth and Rose were tired of all the old toys, they had played with them so many, many times. They hoped that Santa would bring them some new ones on Christmas morning, if Christmas morning would ever, ever come!

 

In the dining-room Rose’s old doll, Matilda, was lying face downward on the sofa, quite[3] heart-broken because she had been so long deserted³. Rose looked at her, then she turned her back sadly.

 

“Matilda is growing very ugly,” she said. “No wonder she hides her face, with only one eye and a broken nose. I still love her very much, but I do so hope that Santa will not forget how much I need a new dollie.”

 

They went down into the kitchen, with a vague hope that Katie might find them something to do. But Katie was too busy baking the Christmas pies and cake to bother with children. She would not even give them a bit of dough⁴ to play with.

 

“Whisht!” she cried, flapping a dishcloth at them fiercely, “Rin out o’ me kitchen, you childer! I can’t have ye fussing about here this day, niver a bit. Rin off an’ play somewheres else, like a good little lad and lassie, now.”

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