On Christmas Day in the Morning | Page 5

to-morrow. I haven't been home Christmas in--let me see--by Jove, I
believe it's six--seven--yes, seven years. Look here: there's been some
excuse for me, but what about you people that live near?"
He looked accusingly about. Carolyn got up and came around to him.
"Don't talk about it to-night," she whispered. "We haven't any of us
realised how long it's been."
"We'll get off to bed now," Guy declared, rising. "I can't get over the
feeling that they may catch us down here. If either of them should want
some hot water or anything--"
"The dining-room door's bolted," Marietta assured him, "but it might
need explainin' if I had to bring 'em hot water by way of the parlour.
Now, go awful careful up them stairs. They're pretty near over your
ma's head, but I don't dare have you tramp through the settin'-room to
the front ones. Now, remember that seventh stair creaks like
Ned--you've got to step right on the outside edge of it to keep it quiet. I
don't know but what you boys better step right up over that seventh
stair without touchin' foot to it."
"All right--we'll step!"
"Who's going to fix the bundles?" Carolyn paused to ask as she started
up the stairs.
"Marietta," Guy answered. "I've labeled every one, so it'll be easy. If
they hear paper rattle, they'll think it's the usual presents we've sent on,
and if they come out they'll see Marietta, so it's all right. Quiet, now.
Remember the seventh stair!"
They crept up, one by one, each to his or her old room. There needed to
be no "doubling up," for the house was large, and each room had been
left precisely as its owner had left it. It was rather ghostly, this stealing
silently about with candles, and in the necessity for the suppression of

speech the animation of the party rather suffered eclipse. It was late,
and they were beginning to be sleepy, so they were soon in bed. But,
somehow, once composed for slumber, more than one grew wakeful
again.
Guy, lying staring at a patch of wintry moonlight on the odd striped
paper of his wall--it had stopped snowing since they had come into the
house, and the clouds had broken away, leaving a brilliant
sky--discovered his door to be softly opening. The glimmer of a candle
filtered through the crack, a voice whispered his name.
"Who is it?" he answered under his breath.
"It's Nan. May I come in?"
"Of course. What's up?"
"Nothing. I wanted to talk a minute." She came noiselessly in, wrapped
in a woolly scarlet kimono, scarlet slippers on her feet, her brown
braids hanging down her back. The frost-bloom lately on her cheeks
had melted into a ruddy glow, her eyes were stars. She set her candle
on the little stand, and sat down on the edge of Guy's bed. He raised
himself on his elbow and lay looking appreciatively at her.
"This is like old times," he said. "But won't you be cold?"
"Not a bit. I'm only going to stay a minute. Anyhow, this thing is warm
as toast.... Yes, isn't it like old times?"
"Got your lessons for to-morrow?"
She laughed. "All but my Cæsar. You'll help me with that, in the
morning, won't you?"
"Sure--if you'll make some cushions for my bobs."
"I will. Guy--how's Lucy Harper?"
"She's all right. How's Bob Fields?"

"Oh, I don't care for him, now!" She tossed her head.
He kept up the play. "Like Dave Strong better, huh? He's a softy."
"He isn't. Oh, Guy--I heard you had a new girl."
"New girl nothing. Don't care for girls."
"Yes, you do. At least I think you do. Her name's--Margaret."
The play ceased abruptly. Guy's face changed. "Perhaps I do," he
murmured, while his sister watched him in the candle-light.
"She won't answer yet?" she asked very gently.
"Not a word."
"You've cared a good while, haven't you, dear?"
"Seems like ages. Suppose it isn't."
"No--only two years, really caring hard. Plenty of time left."
He moved his head impatiently. "Yes, if I didn't mind seeing her smile
on Tommy Gower--de'il take him--just as sweetly as she smiles on me.
If she ever held out the tip of her finger to me, I'd seize it and hold on
to it for fair. But she doesn't. She won't. And she's going South next
week for the rest of the winter, and there's a fellow down there in South
Carolina where she goes--oh, he--he's red-headed after her, like the rest
of us. And, well--I'm up against it good and hard, Nan, and that's the
truth."
"Poor boy. And you gave up going to see her on Christmas Day, and
came down here into the country just to--"
"Just to get even with myself for