The Golden Road | Page 9

nobody thought of being jealous, as might have happened
at any other time. Felicity was in her element, for she and her mother
were deep in preparations for the day. Cecily and the Story Girl were
excluded from these doings with indifference on Aunt Janet's part and
what seemed ostentatious complacency on Felicity's. Cecily took this to
heart and complained to me about it.
"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is," she said, with as
much indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't think she need shut
me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the raisins for the
mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself, because Christmas
mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn't stone raisins right! The
airs Felicity puts on about her cooking just make me sick," concluded
Cecily wrathfully.
"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a while
herself," I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so much
more than other people."
All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken charge
of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the great day of the
feast itself. How slowly the last week passed! But even watched pots
will boil in the fulness of time, and finally Christmas day came, gray
and dour and frost-bitten without, but full of revelry and rose-red mirth
within. Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over
early for the day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to
be hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be able
to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home with her.
"Of course I ought to go," Peter had told me mournfully, "but we won't
have turkey for dinner, because ma can't afford it. And ma always cries
on holidays because she says they make her think of father. Of course
she can't help it, but it ain't cheerful. Aunt Jane wouldn't have cried.
Aunt Jane used to say she never saw the man who was worth spoiling
her eyes for. But I guess I'll have to spend Christmas at home."

At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig's in Charlottetown
invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given his choice of going or
staying, joyfully elected to stay. So we were all together, except Sara
Ray, who had been invited but whose mother wouldn't let her come.
"Sara Ray's mother is a nuisance," snapped the Story Girl. "She just
lives to make that poor child miserable, and she won't let her go to the
party tonight, either."
"It is just breaking Sara's heart that she can't," said Cecily
compassionately. "I'm almost afraid I won't enjoy myself for thinking
of her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible, while we're at
the party."
"She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible," said Felicity
rebukingly.
"But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment," protested Cecily.
"Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she'll cry
tonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. I
wouldn't think that would make her very fond of it. And I'll not be able
to talk the party over with Sara afterwards--and that's half the fun
gone."
"You can tell her all about it," comforted Felix.
"Telling isn't a bit like talking it over," retorted Cecily. "It's too
one-sided."
We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more
than others, but we all received enough to make us feel comfortably
that we were not unduly neglected in the matter. The contents of the
box which the Story Girl's father had sent her from Paris made our eyes
stick out. It was full of beautiful things, among them another red silk
dress--not the bright, flame- hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark
crimson, with the most distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and
with it were little red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that
made Aunt Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked

scornfully that she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired
wearing red so much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that she
thought when you got so many things all at once you didn't appreciate
them as much as when you only got a few.
"I'd never get tired of red," said the Story Girl. "I just love it--it's so rich
and glowing. When I'm dressed in red I always feel ever so much
cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts just crowd into my brain
one after the other. Oh, you darling dress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy,
glistening, silky thing!"
She flung it over