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“Sometimes I get desperate and think I may as well give her up for good and all,” he was saying. “She’s so–so–elusive–I don’t know any other word for it. I never can tell how I stand with her. She’s going South next week. I’ve asked her to answer me before she goes. Somehow I’ve clung to the hope that I’d get my answer to-day. You’ll laugh, but I left word with my office-boy to wire me if a note or anything from her came. It’s four o’clock, and I haven’t heard. She–you see, I can’t help thinking it’s because she’s going to–turn me down–and–hates to do it–Christmas Day!”

He turned suddenly and buried his face in his mother’s lap; his shoulders heaved a little in spite of himself. His mother’s hand caressed his head more tenderly than ever, but, if he could have seen, her eyes were very bright.

They were silent for a long time. Then suddenly a jingle of sleigh bells approached through the falling winter twilight, drew near, and stopped at the door. Guy’s mother laid her hands upon his shoulders. “Son,” she said, “there’s some one stopping now. Perhaps it’s the boy with a message from the station.”

He was on his feet in an instant. Her eyes followed him as he rushed away through the hall. Then she rose and quietly closed the sitting-room door behind him.

As Guy flung open the front door, a tall and slender figure in gray furs and a wide gray hat was coming up the walk. Eyes whose glance had long been his dearest torture met Guy Fernald’s and fell. Lips like which there were no others in the world smiled tremulously in response to his eager exclamation. And over the piquant young face rose an exquisite colour which was not altogether born of the wintry air. The girl who for two years had been only “elusive” had taken the significant step of coming to North Estabrook in response to an eloquent telephone message sent that morning by Nan.

Holding both her hands fast, Guy led her up into the house–and found himself alone with her in the shadowy hall. With one gay shout Nan had driven away toward the barn. The inner doors were all closed. Blessing the wondrous sagacity of his womankind, Guy took advantage of his moment.

“Nan brought you–I see that. I know you’re very fond of her, but–you didn’t come wholly to please her, did you–Margaret?”

“Not wholly.”

“I’ve been looking all day for my answer. I–oh–I wonder if–” he was gathering courage from her aspect, which for the first time in his experience failed to keep him at a distance–“dare I think you–bring it?”

She slowly lifted her face. “I thought it was so–so dear of you,” she murmured, “to come home to your people instead of–staying with me. I thought you deserved–what you say–you want–“

“Margaret–you–“

“I haven’t given you any Christmas present. Will–I–do?”

“Will you do!… Oh!”–It was a great explosive sigh of relief and joy, and as he gave vent to it he caught her close. “Will–you–do!… Good Lord!… I rather think you will!”

* * * * *

“Emeline–“

“Yes, John dear?”

“You’re not–crying?”

“Oh, no–no, no, John!” What a blessing deafness is sometimes! The ear cannot detect the delicate tremolo which might tell the story too plainly. And in the darkness of night, the eye cannot see.

“It’s been a pretty nice day, hasn’t it?”

“A beautiful day!”

“I guess there’s no doubt but the children care a good deal for the old folks yet.”

“No doubt at all, dear.”

“It’s good to think they’re all asleep under the roof once more, isn’t it?–And one extra one. We like her, don’t we?”

“Oh, very, very much!”

“Yes, Guy’s done well. I always thought he’d get her, if he hung on. The Fernalds always hang on, but Guy’s got a mite of a temper–I didn’t know but he might let go a little too soon. Well–it’s great to think they all plan to spend every Christmas Day with us, isn’t it, Emeline?”

“Yes, dear–it’s–great.”

“Well–I must let you go to sleep. It’s been a big day, and I guess you’re tired. Emeline, we’ve not only got each other–we’ve got the children too. That’s a pretty happy thing at our age, isn’t it, now?”

“Yes–yes.”

“Good night–Christmas Night, Emeline.”

“Good night, dear.”