When the Yule Log Burns | Page 9

says every blessed one of your children, an' your
grand-children too, begged and begged you to come to the city for
Christmas an'--an' you wouldn't go 'cause you're old-fashioned and like
a country Christmas so much better--an'--an' because you'd promised to
teach me to skate on the Deacon's pond an' take me sleighin'."
"Dear me," said the Doctor helplessly, "for such a mite of a kiddy, you
do seem remarkably well informed."
"Man to man," reminded Roger inexorably and the Doctor aired his

final grievance.
"And then there's that youngest son of mine--"
"Doctor Ralph?"
"Doctor Ralph! What right had he, I'd like to know, to marry that pretty
sister of yours and go off honeymooning holiday time. Didn't he know
that we needed him and Sister Madge here for Christmas? I miss 'em
both. Young pirate!"
Roger's heart swelled with loyalty. It was Doctor Ralph's skilful hand
that had helped him walk.
"Most likely," he said fairly, "I'm a little to blame there. After I came
home from the hospital, I did tell Sister Madge to marry him--"
"Most likely," acknowledged the Doctor, "I said something similar to
Doctor Ralph. I can't have you shouldering all the responsibility. Well,
your Honor, there's the Christmas evidence. What's the verdict?"
Roger considered. This man to man game had certain phraseological
conclusions.
"No case!" he said suddenly, nor would he alter his decision when the
Doctor protested against its severity.
"You had so awful many peoply sort of places to go," pointed out
Roger, and the Doctor laughed.
"And let you spend this first Christmas on your two legs in a city?" he
demanded. "Well, I guess not! No-sir-ee-bob! There!--the alder berries
have faded out and the garden's thick with twilight."
"And it's Christmas eve!" cried Roger, his black eyes shining with
delight.
"Speaking of Christmas," said the Doctor, sniffing luxuriously, "I feel
that I ought to slip out to the kitchen for a minute or so. I do smell

something tremendously Christmasy and spicy--"
Roger caught his breath. With a Christmas intrigue as surely in the air
as the smell of spice, here was dangerous ground.
"Aunt Ellen," he faltered, "Aunt Ellen said she couldn't pos'bly be
bothered with--with any men folks in the kitchen--not even me."
"Pooh!" rebelled the Doctor largely, "that's merely a ruse of hers to
protect the cookies. And what I'd like to know is just this--what's Aunt
Ellen doing in the kitchen anyway? Certainly old Annie's able to do the
Christmas fussing for three people. Aunt Ellen ought to be in here with
us. That was part of my lonesome grievance but I forgot to mention it."
Roger, shivering apprehensively, visioned suspicious stores of
Christmas delicacies--holly and evergreen--and a supper table set for
ten! And off somewhere among those purple spears of twilight old
Asher, the hired man, was waiting at the station with the big farm
sleigh.
He must keep his eye upon the Doctor until six o'clock, and lure him
away from the window.
"Tell me a story," begged Roger--"over here by the fire." And his voice
was so very tremulous and urgent that the hungry Doctor abandoned
his notion of a Christmas cookie, and complied.
To Roger, in a nervous ecstasy of anticipation, the story was a blurred
hodge-podge of phrases and crackling fire, distant noises of clinking
china and hurrying feet, and wild flights of imagination.... Old Asher
must be coming past the red barn now ... and now down the hill ... and
now past the Deacon's pond ... and now--
Sleigh-bells fairly leaped out of the quiet, and Roger jumped and
gulped, aquiver with excitement. The Doctor regarded him with mild
disfavor.
"Bless my soul," he said in surprise, "that was the quietest part of my

story. You're restless."
"Go on!" said Roger hoarsely, and the obliging Doctor, mistaking his
agitation for interest, went on with his tale.
But Roger had heard old Asher driving along by the picket fence and
turning in at the gate-posts, and the story was no more to him than the
noisy crackle of the log. Off somewhere in the region of the kitchen
door he detected a subdued scuffle of many feet.
The grandfather's clock struck six.... Roger's cheeks were blazing--the
fire and the Doctor still duetting.... Why, oh, why didn't somebody
come and call them to supper?... There had been plenty of time now for
everything. Why--
The door swung back and Roger jumped. Old Annie, Asher's wife,
stood in the doorway, her wrinkled face inscrutable.
"Supper, sir!" she said and vanished. Hand in hand, the Doctor and
Roger went out to supper.
The dining-room door was closed. That in itself was unusual. But the
unsuspecting Doctor pushed through with Roger at his heels, only to
halt and stare dumfounded over his spectacles while Roger screamed