But that Christmas Eve I had found what was left for me. Yes, while Father and Mother and little Brother slept peacefully, I had found my treasures. I had not waited - I could not wait. The burning ardour in me to see, to discover, to enjoy without delay, had fought the icy breath of winter itself. I have never waited willingly from that day to this,. I have seized my joys. It was the hope and eagerness in me then, and the long years were to intervene before learning to hold them in check and to conquer impetuous action.
In the morning when I was shaken awake and heard the "Merry Christmas" calls, and saw little Horace playing with rattle and coloured worsted ball I felt no excitement. Had I been dreaming? No. There before the fire hung my stocking and under the window the pile of little books. And never, never until that moment when I held those little books in the dark night, had I known the rapture of discovery, or the enchanted silence of the night.