They went to sleep on the night before Christ-
mas—or rather they went to bed, for sleep was
long far from their eyes,— with little squeakings
and gurglings, like so many little white mice,
and if Santa Claus had not always been so very
punctual in disappearing up the chimney before
daybreak, he must certainly have been caught ;
for by the time the chickens were crowing in
the morning there would be an answering twit-
ter through the house, and with a patter of little
feet and subdued laughter small white-clad fig-
ures would steal through the dim light of dusky
rooms and passages, opening doors with sudden

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AMONG THE CAMPS

bursts, and shouting "Christmas gift!" into
darkened chambers, at still sleeping elders, then
scurrying away in the gray light to rake open
the hickory embers and revel in the exploration
of their crowded stockings.
Such was Christmas morning at Holly Hill in
the old times before the war. Thus it was, that
at Christmas, 1863, when there were no new toys
to be had for love or money, there were much dis-
appointment and some murmurs at Holly Hill.
The children had never really felt the war until
then, though their father. Major Stafford, had
been off, first with his company and then with
his regiment, since April, 1861. Now from Mrs.
