It would be hard to tell who enjoyed the Christmas the most. But I think
the givers found it more blessed than the receivers. What talk Mr. Blake
heard in his rounds I cannot tell. If you want to know, you must ask the
Old Ebony.
THE CHAIRS IN COUNCIL.
It was a quiet autumn afternoon. I was stretched on a lounge, with a pile
of newspapers for a pillow. I do not know that I succeeded in getting any
information _into_ my head by putting newspapers _under_ it. But on this
particular afternoon I was attacked by a disease of the eyes, or rather
of the eyelids. They would droop. I don't know by what learned name the
doctors call this disease, but, as I could not read with my eyes closing
every second or two, I just tucked my newspapers away under my head and
rested my eyelids awhile.
I remember that there was a hen cackling in the barn, and a big
bumble-bee buzzing and bumbling around in a consequential way among the
roses under the window, and I could hear the voices of the children in
the front yard playing with their dishes.
I don't know how long I had lain thus. But I remember that the cackling
hen and the bumbling bee and the laughing children seemed to get farther
and farther away, the sounds becoming less and less distinct.
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