"But the afternoon is the regular parliamentary time, and,
anyway, little Skeezucks 'ain't had his breakfast, boys, and--we want
to be sure the shop is good and warm."
"The boys is all waitin' fer to give three cheers," said the carpenter,
"and we're goin' to surprise you with a Christmas song called 'Massa's
in the Cole, Cole Ground.'"
"Shut up!" said Bone; "you're givin' it all away. So you won't bring
him down this mornin'?"
"Well, we'll tell 'em," agreed the disappointed Lufkins. "What time do
you think you'll fetch the little shaver, then, this afternoon?"
"I guess about twelve," said Jim.
"How's he feelin'?" inquired the carpenter.
"Wal, he don't know how to feel on Christmas yet," answered the miner,
evasively. "He doesn't know what's a-comin'."
"Wait till he sees them blocks," said the carpenter, with a knowing
wink.
"I ain't sayin' nothin'," added Lufkins, with the most significant
smile, "but you jest wait."
"Nor me ain't doin' any talkin'," said Bone.
"Well, the boys will all be waitin'," was the teamster's last remark,
and slowly down the whitened hill they went, to join their fellows at
the shop of the smith.
The big, rough men did wait patiently, expectantly, loyally. Blowing
out the candles, to save them for the moment when the tiny child should
come, they sat around, or stood about, or wandered back and forth, each
togged out in his very best, each with a new touch of Christmas meaning
in his heart.
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