When the Yule Log Burns | Page 5

the bizarre company in
the shadows. Roger, eagerly watching them snatch the raisins from the
fire, fell to trembling in an ecstasy of delight. Presently a slender arm in

a crimson sleeve, whose wearer was never very far from Roger's chair,
slipped quietly about his shoulders and held him very tight. So, an
endless round of merry Christmas games until, deep and mellow came
at last the majestic boom of the grandfather's clock striking twelve and
with it a hearty babel of Christmas greetings as the Doctor, smiling
significantly down into Roger's excited eyes, gave the signal to
unmask.
By the fire a mysterious little knot of guests had been silently gathering,
and now as Aunt Ellen Leslie removed her mask, hand and mask halted
in mid-air as if fixed by the stare of Medusa, and the face above the
brown-gold brocade flamed crimson. For here in Puritan garb was John
Leslie, Jr., and his radiant wife--and Philip and Howard, smiling
Quakers, and Anne and Margaret and Ellen with a trio of husbands, and
beyond a laughing jester in cap and bells, whose dark, handsome face
was a little too reckless and tired about the eyes, Roger thought, for a
really happy Christmas guest--young Doctor Ralph.
As Aunt Ellen's startled eyes swept slowly from the smiling faces of
her children to the proud and chuckling Doctor who had spent Heaven
knows how many dollars in telegraphed commands--she laughed a little
and cried a little and then mingled the two so queerly that she needs
must wipe her eyes and catch at Roger's chair for support, whereupon a
kindly little hand slipped suddenly into hers and Roger looked up and
smiled serenely.
"Don't cry, Aunt Ellen!" he begged shyly. "I knew all about it too and
the Doctor--he did it all!"
"And merry fits he gave us all by telegram, too, mother!" exclaimed
Philip with a grin.
"Moreover," broke in John, patting his mother's shoulder, "there are
eleven kids packed away upstairs like sardines--we hid 'em away while
dad and you were lost, and--" but here with a deafening racket the stairs
door burst wide open and with a swoop and a scream eleven pajama-ed
young bandits with starry eyes bore down upon Aunt Ellen and the
Doctor.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed John, thoroughly scandalized, "you
disgraceful kids! Which one of you stirred this up?" But the guilty face
at the tail of the romping procession was the face of old Asher.
Radiantly triumphant the old Doctor swung little John Leslie 3rd to his
shoulder and faced his laughing family and as old Annie appeared with
a steaming tray--he seized a mug of cider and held it high aloft.
"To the ruddy warmth of the Christmas log and the Christmas home
spirit--" he cried--"to the home-keeping hearts of the country-side!
Gentlemen--I give you--A Country home and a Country Christmas!
May more good folk come to know them!" And little John Leslie cried
hoarsely--
"Hooray, grandpop, hooray for a Country Christmas!"
Carelessly alive to the merry spirit of the night, the jester presently
adjusted a flute which hung from his shoulder by a scarlet cord and
lazily piping a Christmas air, wandered to another room--to come
suddenly upon a forgotten playmate of his boyhood days.
"It--it can't be!" he reflected in startled interest. "It surely can't be
Madge Hildreth!"
But Madge Hildreth it surely was, spreading the satin folds of his
grandmother's crimson gown in mocking courtesy. Moreover it was not
the awkward, ragged elfish little gipsy who had tormented his debonair
boyhood with her shy ardent worship of himself and his daring exploits,
but instead a winsome vision of Christmas color and Christmas cheer,
holly-red of cheek, with flashes of scarlet holly in her night black hair
and eyes whose unfathomable dusk reflected no single hint of that old,
wild worship slumbering still in the girl's rebellious heart.
"And the symbolism of this stunning make-up?" queried Ralph after a
while, lazily admiring.
The girl's eyes flashed.

"To-night, if you please," she said, "I am the spirit of the old-fashioned
Christmas who dwells in the holly heart of the evergreen wood. A
country Christmas, ruddy-cheeked and cheerful and rugged like the
winter holly--simple and old-fashioned and hallowed with memories
like this bright soft crimson gown!"
Well, she had been a queer, fanciful youngster too, Doctor Ralph
remembered, always passionately aquiver with a wild sylvan poetry
and over-fond of book-lore like her father. Mischievously glancing at a
spray of mistletoe above the girl's dark head, he stepped forward with
the careless gallantry that had won him many a kindly glance from
pretty eyes and was strangely to fail him now. For at the look in
Madge's calm eyes, he drew back, stammering.
"I--I beg your pardon!" said Doctor Ralph.
Later as he stood thoughtfully by his bedroom