December 24-25, 1844, Tuesday/Wednesday.

When Joseph was an old man, an old man was he

He married Virgin Mary, the Queen of Galilee

He married Virgin Mary, the Queen of Galilee

Thus sang the group in the sleigh.

It was cold. The snow lay heavily on the ground – and the road. Nobody was worried about this: they were bundled up. Jim was wearing his father's old fur matchcoat, the one he'd had in the war of 1812. With the fur side worn inward, it was very warm, if a bit old-fashioned and inelegant.

Jim, Cherry, Hannibal, and Dan harmonised on all the old tunes they knew as they rode along. Theirs was a cheerful errand: delivering Christmas goods. They and the Fergusons had laboured for weeks on this. There were corn-shuck dollies and little packets of pumpkin seeds for every child in Brookville. While they drove around making 'secret' deliveries to parents, they carolled, and Jim played cheerful tunes.

'Anybody know another song about Christmas?' Jim asked. Dan came up with this one.

God rest you merry, gentlemen,

Let nothing you dismay!

Remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas Day…

They sang 'The Holly and the Ivy' and 'I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In'. It was late afternoon when they arrived back at the Ferguson farm for pumpkin pie and cider. Then Jim went home to help around the Peace and Poverty. There were only a few guests at the hotel, people who had to travel no matter the weather. Christmas Day wasn't a holiday, and it wasn't a 'sabbath', for people who cared about such things. Still, the weather was uncertain.

The Gallagher children were excited about the coming day. Their mother had been baking all day, and good smells filled the kitchen. Turkeys had been slow-roasted over the fire. They would have a plenteous meal on the morrow.

'What will St Nicholas bring us?' little Sadie wondered. 'A nice bone for Jacky, I hope.'

'I'm sure he won't forget Jacky,' reassured her mother. 'If Jim reads the poem, will you all go to bed like good children?' There was an excited chorus of assent, and Mrs Gallagher brought out a carefully-saved newspaper clipping for Jim to read aloud. It was called 'A Visit from St Nicholas', by Clement C Moore, and it began like this:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Jim gave the poem, which he knew by heart by now, the most intense reading he could. When he got to 'Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound!', he put as much surprise into as he could. The kids jumped, and Sadie stole a look at the chimney, obviously wondering if a magical being could get down their flue.

And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'

And with that, the little Gallaghers were packed off to bed. They didn't know what 'sugarplums' were –   must be something they have in New York, thought Jim – but they imagined good things, nonetheless.

In the quiet that ensued, Jim helped Mrs Gallagher hang the children's stockings around the fireplace with its now-banked fire. They were stuffed with candies and corn husk dollies and homemade wooden toys. Each stocking had a penny in it, carefully saved for the holiday.

'Thank you, Jim,' said Mrs Gallagher. 'I'm going to miss you next year.'

Jim smiled. 'Wherever I am, I'll be thinking of you all at Christmas,' he said.

Christmas Day brought delights for the children, who were up early. Jim was up early, too, to drive over to Roseville with Hannibal. They were taking some gifts from the Fergusons to their friend Adolphus Schwenk. On the way, they passed the village school, another log cabin schoolhouse like the one where Mrs McNab taught in the summer. Only this one was the scene of much merriment.

A small crowd of boys and girls were gathered around the school, laughing and cheering, while a determined-looking young man was trying to open the door. A few adults were standing around, but refusing to help him, and laughing as hard as the children.

The door wouldn't budge. Several of the older boys were inside, determined to keep the schoolmaster out.

'It's a tradition,' commented Hannibal. 'That means somebody's done it twice.'

They stopped to watch. It was, indeed, a Christmas tradition for boys to lock the schoolteacher out of the school on Christmas morning. The windows were shuttered, and the door barricaded. The teacher, seemingly determined, actually climbed up to the roof and threatened to go down the chimney, but when smoke came out of it, he reconsidered and gave up.

This set up a cheer among the children: it meant the schoolteacher would have to treat the school. Jim suspected he'd planned to do this all along: at a signal from the schoolteacher, some friends of his came out of hiding in the trees. They were carrying baskets of apples and sweets and what looked like cookies.

'Hurrah!' shouted the children, and they all went inside together.

Hannibal laughed. 'I knew Josh Lindsay wouldn't let those kids down. He's a good teacher. They ought to keep him as long as they can. Not all of them are that good. He's never struck a child.'

Jim and Hannibal went on to Schwenks'. They were rewarded with more food and a concert of German Christmas songs. The Schwenks really celebrated: they had even brought a tree indoors, garlanded with popcorn and bits of coloured rags and candle ends. It was…what was the word? Oh, yes: festive.

On the way home, Jim sang the song he'd learned from the Schwenk family, a new one to him that they, in turn, had learned from German immigrants:

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht...

Dmitri Gheorgheni