No young king was ever put to bed with more ceremony or more devotion
than was that little boy that night. Two old gentlemen were his grooms
of the bedchamber and saw him to bed together.
The talk was all of Christmas, and the General envied the ease with
which the other grandfather carried on the conversation. But when the
boy, having kissed his grandfather, said of his own accord, “Now, I must
kiss my _other_ grandfather,” he envied no man on earth.
The next morning when Oliver Hampden, before the first peep of light,
waked in his little bed, which stood at the foot of his grandfather's
bed in the tiny room which they occupied together, and standing up,
peeped over the footboard to catch his grandfather's “Christmas gift,”
he was surprised to find that the bed was empty and undisturbed. Then
having tiptoed in and caught his mother, he stole down the stairs and
softly opened the sitting-room door where he heard the murmur of voices.
The fire was burning dim, and on either side sat the two old gentlemen
in their easy chairs, talking amicably and earnestly as they had been
talking when he kissed them “good-night.” Neither one had made the
suggestion that it was bedtime; but when at the first break of day
the rosy boy in his night-clothes burst in upon them with his shout of
“Christmas gift,” and his ringing laughter, they both knew that the long
feud was at last ended, and peace was established forever.