"Two of them are down, and two of them are up,
quite up, quite tidy."
Dear Father rubbed his glass and put it back into his eye.
"Why, how many stockings have you got on?"
"Four," said Chris, smiling serenely at his legs; "and it isn't
Bessy's fault. I put 'em all on myself, every one of them."
At this minute James brought in the papers, and Father only laughed,
and said, "I never saw such a chap," and began to read. He is very
fond of Christopher, and Chris is never afraid of him.
I was going out of the room, and Chris followed me into the hall, and
drew my attention to his legs, which were clothed in four stockings;
one pair, as he said, being drawn tidily up over his knees, the other
pair turned down with some neatness in folds a little above his
ankles.
"Mary," he said, "I'm contented now."
"I'm very glad, Chris. But do leave off staring at your legs. All the
blood will run into your head."
"I wish things wouldn't always get into _my_ head, and nobody else's,"
said Chris, peevishly, as he raised it; but when he looked back at his
stockings, they seemed to comfort him again.
"Mary, I've found another name for myself."
"Dear Chris! I'm so glad."
"It's a real one, out of the old book. I thought of it entirely by
myself."
"Good Dwarf. What is your name?"
"_Hose-in-Hose_," said Christopher, still smiling down upon his legs.
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