The church bells began to ring, ushering in the holy tide. Christmas Eve! Oh, he must hurry, hurry home!,
Johnny Blossom sat crouched together on the veranda steps, Mother sat on the veranda sewing, and the sun shone hotly down. Long silence.,
Aunt Grenertsen was difficult to talk with—so contrary, somehow, even if not really cross, that it was very tiresome. She wasn’t the least bit like Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe, who was always kind and gentle, always pleasant. Oh, dear, no! Aunt Grenertsen wasn’t like Uncle Isaac; far, far from it!.
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