Last Christmas Eve she had sat there , a sweet and saintly presence , in the inglenook , more , so it had almost seemed , the centre of the home circle than the father and mother ; and now the December stars were shining over her grave , and not one of that heedless group remembered her ; not once was her name spoken ; even her old dog had forgotten her -- he sat with his nose in Margaret 's lap , blinking with drowsy , aged contentment at the fire . `` Oh , I ca n't bear it ! '' whispered Nanny , under cover of the hearty laughter which greeted a story Doctor Fritz had been telling . She slipped out into the kitchen , put on her hood and cloak , and took from a box under the table a little wreath of holly . She had made it out of the bits left over from the decorations . Miss Avis had loved holly ; Miss Avis had loved every green , growing thing . As Nanny opened the kitchen door something cold touched her hand , and there stood the old dog , wagging his tail and looking up at her with wistful eyes , mutely pleading to be taken , too . `` So you do remember her , Gyppy , '' said Nanny , patting his head . `` Come along then . We 'll go together . '' They slipped out into the night . It was quite dark , but it was not far to the graveyard -- just out through the evergreens and along a field by-path and across the road . The old church was there , with its square tower , and the white stones gleaming all around it . Nanny went straight to a shadowy corner and knelt on the sere grasses while she placed her holly wreath on Miss Avis 's grave . The tears in her eyes brimmed over . `` Oh , Miss Avis ! Miss Avis ! '' she sobbed . `` I miss you so -- I miss you so ! It ca n't ever seem like Christmas to me without you .
You were always so sweet and kind XXXXX me .
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