A good many years ago, for I was then only seven, my father came to
me in the twilight of a winter's day, when the three _Ave Marias_ had
been repeated to the sound of the church-bells, and said solemnly,
"You need not go to bed with the chickens to-night, Pedro; you are a
big boy now, and you ought to have supper with your parents and your
older brothers. This is Christmas Eve."
I shall never forget the delight with which I heard these words. I
was not going to bed until late! I cast a glance of commiseration
and contempt upon my younger brothers, and instantly fell to
composing a description, to be delivered at school on my return after
Twelfth Night, of this my first adventure, my first lark, the first
dissipation of my life.