"Come in, my darling; come quick, and kiss us."

The door opens and my boy, his eyes aglow, and his arms raised, rushes
toward the bed. His curls, escaping from the nightcap covering his head,
float on his forehead. His long, loose night-shirt, catching his little
feet, increases his impatience, and causes him to stumble at every step.

At length he crosses the room, and, holding out his two hands to mine:
"Baby wishes you a Happy New Year," he says, in an earnest voice.

"Poor little love, with his bare feet! Come, darling, and warm yourself
under the counterpane."

I lift him toward me, but at this moment my wife, who is asleep, suddenly
wakes.

"Who is there?" she exclaims, feeling for the bell. "Thieves!"

"It is we two, dear."

"Who? Good heavens! how you frightened me! I was dreaming the house
was on fire, and that I heard your voice amid the raging flames. You
were very indiscreet in shouting like that!"

"Shouting! but you forget, mamma, that it is New Year's Day, the day of
smiles and kisses? Baby was waiting for you to wake up, as well as
myself."

However, I wrap the little fellow up in the eiderdown quilt and warm his
cold feet in my hands.