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  “I know,” said the mother, turning her troubled gaze on her child again, “it wasn’t that, of course. It was just that I love you so, dear child, and I want to be sure your friends are—all right!”

  “But why shouldn’t he be all right? What is there about him, Mother, that made you think he wasn’t?”

  “Nothing!” said her mother, feeling the look of trouble and indignation in her girl’s eyes, “nothing whatever! I just felt as if he wasn’t—quite—our kind!”

  “What do you mean, our kind?” flashed the girl, on the defensive at once.

  “Well—I don’t know—” said Mrs. Devereaux. “I rather got the idea, I guess, from some things he said when he was talking with Father, that he was out in social life a lot, and that his business threw him among a rather fast lot of men. Daryl, he doesn’t drink, does he?”

  The girl’s face flushed suddenly red, and a flash almost of fear went shivering through the blue of her eyes.

  “Why no, of course not!” she said haughtily. “At least, I know he has taken it occasionally out at a dinner or somewhere that he thought he had to, but he doesn’t care for it at all, and he never accepts it when he is out with me!” she added proudly. “He just doesn’t order it. He says I’ve been very good for him, Mother! You needn’t be in the least afraid of anything like that. He understands perfectly how I feel about drinking, and he says it’s nothing to him at all, whether he drinks or whether he doesn’t drink! He says that he never wants to do anything to worry me.”

  A misty look came into Daryl’s eyes as she remembered the look in the young man’s eyes when he had told her this.

  The mother watched her, more fearful than ever, yet saw and understood that misty look, too, and felt for her child again.

  “Dear Father in heaven! Grant that it may be so!” her heart breathed.

  “Oh, Mother! You are just spoiling this perfectly wonderful Christmastime!” Daryl suddenly said with a quiver of her young lips.

  “There now, child! Put this all away!” the mother said quickly. “You got it all up out of whole cloth! And of course I’ll like him if he’s all right. And of course he’s all right or you wouldn’t like him. I’ll be very fond of him when I know him better. Don’t I always like your friends? And besides, why make such a fuss about it? You’re not engaged to him or anything, not yet anyway! You’re just friends!”

  “Yes, of course,” said Daryl, relief beginning to overspread her face, “just friends!” But there was a twinkle in the corner of her mouth where a dimple lurked.

  “But awfully good friends!” she added with the starry look coming back into her eyes.

  “Yes, of course!” said the mother, suddenly drawing her girl into her arms and smothering a sigh in her sweet young neck as she kissed her cheek tenderly.

  And just at that moment the fat got itself ready to boil over, and the experimental doughnut came to the top as black as a doughnut could possibly be. The ensuing rescue diverted the conversation for the time being, and when calm had been restored the two loving women dared not broach the subject again.

  Daryl, at least, forgot it, and her joy bubbled over in song now and again as she sifted powdered sugar over the big platter of beautifully brown crisp doughnuts, while she cleaned the fine old family silver, and got out the best long tablecloth to look it over for possible breaks, counted out the napkins, and arranged everything in order in the sideboard so that the dinner tomorrow would be assembled with the least possible effort. And now and again she would drop into the living room for a minute to ripple out some notes on the piano, and trill a bit of a song, some favorite of her mother’s or a snatch of something she had learned out in the world. It was all one joyous Christmas medley of happiness, and the wonderful Christmas wasn’t spoiled after all.

  So Daryl went back to the kitchen to assist in the solemn ceremony of stuffing the big turkey. It was the one that Father had raised with such care, until it almost seemed a part of the family.

  As they worked they planned out what things should be done at what hours so that the necessary work in the kitchen should not hinder the joy and good fellowship in the living room.

  “Ruth wanted to be here this morning to help us, but they had to go and put the Primary Christmas party this afternoon, and she had to stay and get ready for that,” said Daryl as she worked away, rubbing breadcrumbs fine as fleece and then rubbing them into the sweet butter that Mother had made from the cream of their own cow. Daryl was thrilled not a little to be at home helping with all the homey pleasant duties, preparing the delicious delicacies such as the world outside could never achieve even with all its luxury and glamour.

  The morning sped rapidly, and the two were so busy with their work that they did not notice when the first snowflakes fell, and it was the mother who discovered it first after all.

  “Daryl! It’s snowing!” she announced, suddenly pausing as she lifted a pie out of the oven and set it on the table. “It’s been snowing some time. See, the ground is quite white already!”

  “Oh, isn’t that just grand!” said Daryl, going to the window to look out. “It’s really going to be a snow as Father said, not just a little flurry! Oh, it will be the realest Christmas we’ve ever had!”

  The mother looked at her compassionately and smiled, covering her own forebodings.

  “Yes!” she said. “A white Christmas! But I do wish our boys would get back!” She looked at the clock uneasily. “If they only went to Pine Ridge they ought to be here pretty soon.”

  “If you ask me, I think they went farther. I know Dad had it in mind to get a really wonderful tree this time, one that we would always remember. Don’t look at the clock, Mother, and don’t worry! They’ll take care of each other, and there’s nothing really to happen to them. Let’s just enjoy this morning together! It’s so gorgeous to be together, getting ready for Christmas!”

  The mother’s heart leaped up to that call with a thrill. She would put aside all cares and worries for the future and just exult in her girl and being together with her for that morning. Times would come, she knew only too well, when she would need to remember that precious look from Daryl, and those words. She must treasure them as armor against the desolation that would be sure to come in the future.

  So she put her worries in the background, and they were just two girls together, getting ready for a joyous occasion.

  As the morning went on the kitchen began to take on the air of being ready to feed a hungry army. Crisp brown loaves of bread were cooling across their iron pans, pies in a fragrant row stood on a broad shelf by the window, and the turkey, full to bursting, was just getting its waistcoat buttoned across its breast.

  “The hardest things are done now,” said Daryl, as she measured out the sugar for the cranberries.

  “Yes,” said her mother with satisfaction. “I’m glad I made the fruitcake several weeks ago. It’s always nice to use between times during holidays. I think we have plenty so that the work can be kept at a minimum while our guests are here. And the lunch is all ready as soon as our men get home.” She looked complacently toward the kettle of old-fashioned bean soup on the back of the range, getting itself cooked without any fuss or trouble to anybody. “The soup with bread and butter and applesauce and coffee will be all we’ll need. And for dinner tonight there will be the scalloped oysters. I can whip those together while you are talking to the guests and pop them in the oven with the potatoes to bake. We want everything to move along as if there were no such thing as work to be done, don’t we?”

  “Oh, Mother! You’re simply great!” said Daryl, casting a loving look at her. “It’s such fun to be having a real house party. And it’s going to be so much nicer than any of the city house parties because we have your cooking and a real home!”

  “You’re a good girl! Here you might be fretting because you didn’t go to that house party your college roommate had, and instead you’re rejoicing over our plain little home party!”

  “Nothing good
about it, Motherie! I really like it better. But look! Look at the snow! Why, it’s getting to be almost like a blizzard!”

  “Yes, I’ve been seeing it for the last half hour! I do wish your father would come!” said the mother apprehensively.

  “Oh, they’ll be all right, Mother. They’ll just enjoy it. You know they are not children, and they aren’t so far away. They’ll come pretty soon. Come, aren’t you done? You look tired. Suppose you go and lie down a few minutes now while you can, and I’ll dust the living room.”

  But the mother would only lie down for about five minutes on the dining room couch, and then she was up and looking out the window again.

  “They ought not to have gone so far!” she said, real worry in her eyes now. “Just for a tree! It isn’t worth it.”

  “Oh, Mother! Don’t get frightened. Why, there isn’t more than six inches of snow on the ground. What could happen?”

  “I know, but it is getting worse all the time. If anything happened to them, how could we find them?”

  “Now, look here, Mother, you know that is silly! They are men, strong men. What could happen? They aren’t going to cut down any ancient pines that might fall on them. And there they come now! See! And oh, look at the tree, Mother! No wonder it took them a long time! Isn’t it a beauty?”

  The mother’s face relaxed, and she turned quickly and began to get the lunch ready to put on the table.

  “They’ll be very hungry,” she said, with happy eyes glancing out of the window again as she saw her two men tramp into the yard dragging the great feathery tree between them.

  Daryl went out with a broom and helped them brush the snow from the tree branches, and then they brought it in.

  “Oh, why don’t you leave it out on the porch until you’ve had something to eat?” protested the mother.

  “No, we want to set it up and be done with it,” said Lance eagerly. “We might as well get it over while we are still all snowy. Daryl, get a lot of newspapers and spread them out over the carpet till we get done broadcasting snow. Then we’ll clean up and be ready to eat.”

  So there was a happy rush in the house again, and presently the tree was up in all its beauty, steadied by hidden wires strung across the room. Its fragrance filled the house. They could see it from the dining room as they sat down to eat, and it seemed as if the very spirit of Christmas had come to them from the great out of doors.

  “Where are the lights?” asked Lance. “I’ll put them on after lunch.”

  “They are on the piano in those boxes. I thought we would make the tree all silver and lights this year. Don’t you think that will be pretty?” asked the girl.

  “Lovely!” said the mother. “I never cared for a great array of baubles. The lights give plenty of color.”

  They were enjoying the bean soup and applesauce, as only tired, hungry, happy men can enjoy plain food well cooked, and there was such a pleasant light of love in all their faces that it was a scene worthy of a painter’s brush.

  “Well,” said Father Devereaux, folding up his napkin and shoving back his chair, his eyes proudly resting on the beautiful tree, “we got her here, didn’t we, Son? Say, Mother, isn’t that the most beautiful Christmas tree you ever saw?”

  “It certainly is,” said Mother Devereaux, her eyes following her husband’s gaze.

  “Say, Mother, do you remember the first Christmas tree we ever had, just after we were married?” He reached out and put his hand gently down upon her small wiry one, both hands that worked so very hard through the years, yet warm as ever each to the touch of the other.

  “Do I remember it?” said Mother, turning a beaming look toward her old partner. “How could I ever forget?” And her hand nestled in his clasp.

  The children gave them a quick wistful glance. They were old enough to appreciate the love between these two, far enough along in their own life-stories to wonder if anything so precious and lasting could be in store for them.

  “Well, we’ve had a great time up in the woods, Lance and I, and I sort of think we enjoyed it all the better for the snow, though I will own it did get a bit heavy for me toward the end. I’m not as spry as I once was. Now, what’s to be done next? When do our guests arrive?”

  His eyes traveled around the group. Lance, who was cleaning out the applesauce dish, was too busy to answer, and Daryl flushed and hesitated, dropping her gaze suddenly. It was the mother after all who had to answer.

  “Why, Daryl says Mister—Harold, I mean—is driving and can’t get here till late in the afternoon. I suppose Lance means to go for Ruth. Don’t you, Lance?”

  “No,” said Lance, putting down the empty dish. “At least I didn’t arrange that way because I wasn’t quite sure what time Dad and I would get home. You know I took my car down last night to the garage to have them fix a leak in the pump, and Ruth was to go to the garage and get it as soon as she got done with that kids’ party she is running at the church. She won’t be through that till half past four or I’d go right now and get her. I don’t like the idea of her driving through all this snow alone. I’ll see how things get done here. Maybe I’ll foot it to the village and drive her back myself. It’s ridiculous her having to stay for that party. I don’t see how the kids can get there in this snow anyway.”

  “Oh, children don’t mind snow!” said the father, peering around to look out the window. “You know how you always used to go everywhere in it.”

  “I know,” Lance said with a sigh. “And I suppose it wouldn’t do any good even if I did go after her now, for she wouldn’t leave till the hour was over, even if there was only one kid there. She’d make him have a good time. That’s Ruth!”

  “Yes,” said his father, “that Ruth! And that’s why you like her, because she’s that kind of a dear, faithful girl!”

  “Well, yes, I suppose it is,” admitted the young man reluctantly, “but you know it makes me hot under the collar sometimes to see how they all let Ruth do everything, and she doesn’t even belong in this town, just does it out of the goodness of her heart. They wouldn’t bother for half the good times she gives those kids. She’s just a slave to whatever she undertakes.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty good way to be,” said the father. “But I guess after a while you’d better walk down and drive her back. This is really a storm, you know, and she’s a dear girl. I wouldn’t want her to get stuck in a drift.”

  “Yes,” said Lance, getting up quickly with a businesslike air. “Well, I’ll bring in plenty of wood for the fireplaces tonight and then that will be done. I’ll lay the other fires, too. Want one in each spare room, don’t you? I would. It’ll be chilly getting up in the morning without a fire, and a chap from the city will feel it even more than we would. Then I’ll fix the lights on the tree and Daryl can go ahead with her decorations.”

  “Yes,” said the mother firmly. “Fires laid in both rooms.”

  “Well,” said Father Devereaux, rising slowly, reluctantly, and stretching his tired limbs, “I’ll just go out to the barn and see how Chrystobel is getting on. She’ll be thinking it’s night with all this storm, and expect to be milked pretty soon. And I suppose the hens have gone to roost already.”

  “Better explain to them that tomorrow is Christmas, Dad. Tell ’em they’ll have a good dinner, and find plenty of corn in their stockings,” laughed Lance as he swung out through the kitchen shed to where the woodpile was, and presently they heard his ax ringing cheerfully.

  Daryl thrilled to the joy of the day and their own dear home and wondered shyly how it would all impress Harold when he came. She smiled quietly to herself at the glib way Mother had called him by his name, after almost mistering him after all. But she had said “Harold,” and she would surely like him when she knew him, of course. Everybody liked Harold. He was very popular wherever he went. Then she got up and whisked the dishes into the pan and out again to the shelves in a jiffy and was ready to work on the tree.

  Lance was already at work on the lights.


  “It really is a blizzard, isn’t it?” Daryl asked a little anxiously. “You don’t suppose the roads will be blocked so badly that Harold will not be able to get through?” Her tone showed an anxiety she did not want to own, and her brother gave her a quick keen glance.

  “Well, I don’t know, Darrie. It might be. You know the wind is pretty high, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the drifts were high in the open country.”

  “Even on the highway?”

  “Yes, even on the highway, if the wind happens to veer the wrong way. You know it’s been snowing for a good many hours, and it doesn’t take long for snow to make a big barrier of itself when it has the wind at its back. What time did he start?”

  “Why, I don’t know. He said he doubted if he could get off before noon.” Her eyes were troubled, and Lance had a sudden thought that she looked like their mother with that anxiety in the depths of her blue eyes.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” he soothed. “He would likely have telephoned you before this if there was any doubt of his coming through. Just don’t think about it. It’ll all come out right.”

  Daryl flashed a smile at him and brightened.

  “Of course!” she said.

  “Of course!” said he. “Now, that’s that. You can go ahead and put on your silver threads and pretties, and I’ll go out and milk Chrystobel. I think Dad is planning to get ahead of me, and I don’t think he should. He got pretty well puffed before we got home this morning, and I think he ought to rest.”

  Lance lowered his voice and nodded toward his father who had come in from his consultation with the hens and cow and was taking a bit of a nap in his easy chair near the dining room couch where Mother had already fallen asleep.

  “Yes,” said Daryl in a soft whisper, “do, and I’ll strain the milk and you can get ready to go for Ruth.”

  So Lance went to the barn and Daryl, thinking pleasant thoughts, went on threading the noble branches of the tree with silver. Outside the snow thickened and pelted down with added vigor, but Daryl resolutely kept her back turned to the window until she heard Lance come in and then she went quickly to the milk room to help him with pouring the milk through the strainer into the shining pans that stood waiting.