and then a joyful hubbub. Lawson had come! Uncle Bob had been passing near the school where he was, and had gone a little out of his way to pick him up. Everyone was delighted—though of them all, none so thankful as Roger.

“Though I won’t tell him to-night,” decided the unselfish little fellow, “not to spoil his first night. I shan’t mind when I know he’s in his cot beside me.” And even when Lawson asked him if anything were the matter, he kept to his resolution.

But he awoke in the middle of the night from a terrible dream; Lawson awoke too, and then—out it all came. “I thought she was coming in at the window,” Roger ended. “If—if you look out—it’s moonlight—I[11] think p’r’aps you’ll see where she stands. But no, no; don’t—don’t; she might see you.”

[11]

So Lawson agreed to wait till to-morrow. “You go to sleep,” he said. “I’m here, and you can say your prayers again if you like.”

Lawson was up very early next morning. When breakfast was over he told Roger to come out with him. Down the Primrose Lane they went, in spite of Roger’s trembling.

“Now, shut your eyes,” said Lawson, when they got to the gate. He opened it, and led his brother through.

“Look, now!” he said, with a merry laugh. And what do you think Roger saw?

An old scarecrow, forgotten since last year. There she stood, the “Snow Witch”—an apron and ragged shawl, two sticks for arms, a bit of Grandpapa’s hat to crown all—that was the witch!

“Shake hands with her, Roger,” said Lawson. And shake hands they both did, till the old scarecrow tumbled to pieces, never more to frighten either birds or little boys. “Dear Lawson,” said Roger lovingly, as he held up his little face for a kiss. And happy, indeed, were the rest of the Christmas holidays.

 L. Molesworth. 

 The Christmas Tree Punch.

The Christmas Tree Punch.

[12]

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