  June Holiday Home awoke early on the 24th of December, for everybody—which means fifteen of the residents—was going to spend the day with Mrs. Randolph. "From directly after breakfast until midnight," the invitation ran, and the president's car was to be at the Home by eight o'clock. Such a profusion of curls and crimps, of new dresses and waists and fichus, added to new shoes and hats and coats, would have shocked the former superintendent of the Home; but Miss Churchill and Miss Ely even offered their services in the putting on of frills and furbelows, to the astonishment of those not yet grown familiar with kindness. Mrs. Post, being unable to walk, had at first considered herself as entirely out of the fun; but Mrs. Randolph won the enduring love of that eldest member of the Home circle by saying that she should send an extra man with the chauffeur, so that Mrs. Post might have no fears regarding her trip from Edgewood Avenue to Courtney Street. The Randolph home looked a bower of Christmas greenery and blossoms when the guests entered it that chill morning. "My! isn't it beautiful!" cried Miss Crilly, sniffing the pungent, woodsy odors. "Smells like you were right there!" She grasped her hostess by the shoulders. "Now, solemn true! Aren't you the happiest mortal on earth?" Mrs. Randolph smiled, blushing a little, too. "I don't know how happy other people may be," she answered; "I only hope that they are as happy as I am." "There! I knew it!" Miss Crilly exulted, as if she had just disclosed a secret. The others laughed, the thin ice of conventionality was swept away, and at once all were merry. "I think the new ladies wished they were coming when they heard us talking about it," said Miss Mullaly. "They said they were invited to spend the day with relatives," returned the hostess. "Yes, but they won't have half so good a time as we shall." Miss "This evening." "Won't that be lovely! She always makes things fly!" During the forenoon the house was inspected from the quaint little rooms under the eaves to the cold-storage apartment below ground. Miss Crilly insisting that she wanted to see the head and the foot of it; and no new mistress of her own home would have been human not to be pleased with the praise that came from all lips, even including Miss Castlevaine's and Mrs. Crump's. In fact, these two fault-finders appeared to have been won over from their most unpleasant habits by the changes at the Home, which went to prove that Colonel Gresham was not wholly wrong. "The clouds are chiming in with the rest of the world," called Miss Mullaly from the sunshine-room, just as the sun was setting. "Come here, every one of you, and see this sky!" Informality was the watchword of the day, the guests having early been given the freedom of the house, and Miss Mullaly had strayed away from the others into the windowed room. "My sakes!" exclaimed Miss Crilly. "Isn't that a real Christmas celebration!" After the first outburst, the little party watched the gorgeous display almost in silence. "It is too grand for words," breathed Miss Major. Mrs. Randolph caught sight of Miss Twining's face, and it turned her from the distant glory. She told Mrs. Albright afterwards that she looked as if it were given her to see what was not visible to the others—a glimpse of heaven itself. Mrs. Bonnyman broke the spell. "Let's go back before it fades," she suggested. And the majority followed her into the firelit living-room. "You missed the lovely purple tints," Miss Mullaly told them, as the remaining quartette filed back to join the rest. "We'd rather have the picture of that magnificent sky of mottled crimson," declared Mrs. Grace. "Nothing could be finer than that," observed Mrs. Tenney. "Look out!" broke in a rich voice. "I shan't let you say there's anything finer than this!" "Not even a sunset?" laughed Miss Crilly, as Nelson Randolph appeared in the doorway, "A sunset is all right in its proper place," he smiled; "but when I want to ornament a chandelier I prefer this." He held up a large spray of mistletoe. "What do you think?" he challenged Miss Crilly. "I guess you've got me this time!" she laughed. "And I may get you again, my girl, before the evening is out!" He shook a warning finger in her direction. "Dear me!" she cried, "I'm glad I came! To be called a 'girl'! I, an old maid of—I won't tell how many 'summers'! Thank you, Mr. Randolph!" "If all old maids were as young as you there wouldn't be any," he responded gallantly. She laughed her blushing protest, while he went for a stepladder. The mistletoe, in its place of honor among the evergreens, brought forth many expressions of admiration. The host surveyed it with satisfaction. "I think that's a pretty nice piece of mistletoe," he said slowly. "It ought to be, I paid a good price for it. But I expect to get my reward before midnight," he twinkled to the smiling company. "Don't be too sure, Mr. Randolph!" cautioned Miss Crilly. "I am an expert at this business," he announced gravely, "and all I have to say is, Look out!" The ladies were still laughing when they sat down to dinner. Luncheon had been in the sunshine-room, but dinner was served in the dining-room, a big, beautiful apartment all in oak, with a fire crackling at one end. The favors were knots of mistletoe and holly, and a roasted goose held the place of honor upon the table. All were in gayest holiday humor, from the mirthful host to quiet Miss Leatherland, who came far enough out of her shy self to show her friends that she possessed a goodly amount of fun and only needed the opportune moment to display it. As the guests sauntered back to the living-room, they made a wide detour, rather than risk crossing the space beneath the brilliant chandelier with its innocent adornment. The host, after carefully depositing the cripple in the easiest chair, smiled over to Miss Crilly. "Too bad to cause you so many unnecessary steps!" he said. "My feet are not tired," she smiled back at him. "Then let's have a waltz!" he cried, coming up with outstretched hands. "Too soon after dinner," she laughed. "No, it's a good time!" he twinkled gravely. She hesitated, considering him with doubt on her face. "Don't you trust him!" called Mrs. Randolph. "He is longing to waltz you under the mistletoe!" He strode across to his wife. "How dare you blacken my reputation in the face of all these ladies!" he cried sternly. She laughed up at him with fearless, roguish eyes. "Have I suggested anything that was not in your mind to do?" A burst of laughter assailed him, while he walked off muttering,—quite audibly,—"These women! these women!" The jingling of sleighbells set the keener-eared of the guests to listening. "Polly wouldn't come in a sleigh, would she?" queried one. "They're stopping here!" announced Miss Castlevaine from a front window. "But it isn't Polly," she added, "it's—goodness!—it's Santa Claus!" "Santa Claus!" echoed the roomful. And regardless of mistletoe, there was a rush across to the windows, while Nelson Randolph went to welcome his guests. In they came, the strange little party of six, and were presented to the company as Santa Claus and Madam Santa Claus and four of the little Santa Clauses. "Who can they be?" whispered Miss Mullaly to her neighbor. "More'n I know," returned Mrs. Crump. "I guess Polly's one of 'em, but which!" Santa Claus was the same rotund, pudgy old fellow—with the long white beard and the laughing face—that children love, and on his broad back was the proverbial pack of presents. His wife, in fur from head to foot, wore a frilled fur cap, and, safely hidden behind her spectacled, rosy-cheeked mask, looked the veritable mother of all the little Santa Clauses attributed to her. The children stood silently by in their picturesque costumes, looking round the room, as children will, while their father and mother conversed with the host and hostess. Finally they were all seated, and Madam Santa Claus began in quite a motherly way to talk about her children. "It's Polly Dudley," whispered Mrs. Tenney to Mrs. Prindle. "I know her voice. And I'm pretty sure that little one is Doodles. Don't they look funny?" They were all clad in red and white. The girls wore scarlet frocks reaching almost to the floor, with short white fur coats, and caps to match. The boys had long red trousers, and coats like those of their sisters. As they looked around on the company they bore a strong resemblance to their parents, with their rosy cheeks and laughing lips. "I had to leave most of the children at home," the mother was saying. "Lambkin is too young to come out such a cold night, so Eagle stayed to take care of her; and at the very last minute Monkey broke his arm, and of course Brother couldn't come without his twin. It only served Monkey right, he's so careless—though I'm not quite sure that it is Monkey! I never can tell those boys apart." Mother Santa Claus wagged her head cheerfully. "Then, Mousey and Deer have sore throats, and I thought the rest had better stay and keep the sick ones company. They'll have a good Christmas Eve all together, even if they are sick." "Please, can I take off my coat?" asked one of the girls, coming to her mother's side. "Not yet, Starling. Sit down and be quiet!" "Your children have unusual names," twinkled the host gravely. "That's what people say," the mother returned. "But we simply name them according to their characteristics. This one," nodding to the girl who had just gone back to her seat, "we call Starling, because she talks so much, and her sister there is Dove, because she is so gentle. Squirrel is the nimblest of them all and he is never still a minute. See him wiggling round now! This little one," reaching out a hand to the smallest of the four, "is Lark. because he sings so sweetly.—Can't you sing your new carol, dear?" So the youngest of the Santa Clauses stood up obediently and sung a beautiful Christmas song about the Baby Christ. The applause was long and insistent. "He'll sing again for you pretty soon," promised Mother Santa The rosy-cheeked Saint took up a big parcel, and read off, in a clear voice, "Miss Katharine Crilly." Starling was nearest, and took the package; but Miss Crilly, a little upset at being the owner of the first name called, jumped up and hurried across the room for her present, unheedful of mistletoe and the eyes that were watching her. Just inside the enchanted circle, the sudden hush of the room gave her its warning. She caught the eager glances directed beyond her, and turning her head uttered a startled cry. Almost at the same instant an arm shot toward her, missing its aim by scarce an inch. With one bound she cleared the invisible line of danger, and, scudding straight past Starling and her inviting parcel, stopped only at the detaining hand of her laughing hostess. "Mercy sakes!" she cried, and her face rivaled in color the Santa She came back with her parcel, much flurried and still scarlet of face, while squeals of laughter and gay sallies rang about her. After that there was more heed, and the distribution of presents went on without further hindrance. The big bag was empty at last, and Santa Claus exclaimed with a sigh: "Oh, but it's hot! I say, let's get off some of this toggery!" He slipped himself out of his fur coat, pulled off his cap and his mask—and there was David Collins, smiling blithely to the company! The others were quick in following his example, and Madam Santa Then there was plenty to say, many thanks to be given, and much chatter and laughter. In the midst of it all, Nelson Randolph made himself heard:— "Ye men-folk, listen! I am glad to share my rewards with you, so go ahead, David and Blue and Doodles, and obtain as much tribute as possible under the mistletoe!" "How can you share what you haven't got and never had and don't know as you ever will have?" laughed Miss Crilly. He turned toward the saucy speaker and shook his finger sternly. "Jilting me, and then taunting me of my failure! Katharine Crilly, perhaps before midnight the slipper will be on the other foot!" This brought a hubbub of applause and merriment, and the ladies backed away from the charmed circle and giggled and talked gayly among themselves. But Christmas presents are bewitching things, and it was not long before mistletoe was all forgotten in the beauties of fine needlework, the mysteries of new stitches, and the attractions of dainty knickknacks. David and Blue and Doodles succeeded in making momentary captives of Mrs. Tenney, Mrs. Winslow Teed. and Miss Lily, while Polly and Patricia were several times arrested on their heedless ways across the room. Nelson Randolph seemed to have eyes only for Miss Crilly, although once Polly almost walked into his hands. A short but exciting race she led him before dodging behind Miss Mullaly's chair and asking breathlessly if the mistletoe was all over the room. He halted and looked round on the laughing company. "My word of honor! I forgot!—Lady Polly, I humbly beg your gracious pardon!" He bowed low. "Granted, Sir Rogue!" she replied, dropping a curtsy. Full of the spirit of mischief, Patricia slipped away to the piano. Of course, everybody knew what to expect from their "men-folk" partners unless they were exceedingly wary, and only an occasional couple whirled into the enchanted circle. Ice cream and cakes were succeeded by music and the singing of carols, until somebody suggested that it was time to go home. The host took out his watch. "I shall not open the door for anybody yet," he declared. "Only ten o'clock! Master Lark will give us another song!" But before the command had been obeyed, the telephone rang lustily. "Oh, is it!" Mrs. Randolph heard her husband say. "Thank you all, and a Merry Christmas to every one of you!" When he returned he nodded smilingly to her, and then Doodles gave a funny little sleepy song that none of the others had heard,—"The Land of I-dunno-where." Afterwards came more carols, until Blue and Doodles had to hurry away lest they miss the last car to Foxford. The all-day guests began to put on their wraps, word was sent to bring up the car, and all was bustle and happy words and Merry Christmases in abundance. Each guest carried a pretty basket filled with gifts from the host and hostess, and it was nearly eleven before the last load was off, with the sleighful of young folks to keep it company. Nelson Randolph and his wife went silently back to the deserted living-room. "Seems kind of lonely, doesn't it?" she said. "Not a bit!" he replied, leading her under the mistletoe and claiming his reward. "They did have a good time," she said happily. "The best, I'll warrant, that they've had for a decade." He looked down at his wife searchingly. "What is it?" she smiled. "You didn't care, did you?" "For what?" He tossed his head toward the branch above them. "No, indeed!" she replied. "Why should I?" "I didn't think you would," he said slowly; "but some women would have had a fit!" "I wasn't built that way," she laughed. "I think I enjoyed it more than any of the rest of you!" "My dearest wife!" he said gravely, while his lips found their favorite spot where a curl strayed over her forehead,—"My dearest wife!" She heard with almost a start. Did he realize his words, or was it simply an impulsive phrase? A story had been told her once—but, no, that did not belong to Christmas Eve! "It was all a happening," he went on. "I spied the mistletoe when I was coming home, and it set me to wondering if it wouldn't help out; so I brought it along. I wanted those dear women to have a real Christmas merry-making, not a sham affair. Take such folks, they'll generally sit around and talk, and laugh a little, and think they are celebrating something. I wanted them to have a young Christmas. And I didn't catch anybody after all," he ended, a plaintive note in his voice. "You didn't try to catch anybody, did you?" she smiled. "What ever put such a thing into your head?" he demanded fiercely. She laughed. "I have seen you a few times before to-night." He frowned—then broke into a chuckle. "Bless you!" he said fervently. "Nelson Randolph!" she suddenly cried out, trying to break away from him, "The windows! I forgot!" "What's the matter with them?" he twinkled. "They're all shut." "But the shades! They're up!—Nelson!" "What if they are?" he returned comfortably. "Somebody may look in!" He smilingly held her tight. "If any wanderer is abroad in this cold, he ought to be rewarded with a picture of domestic bliss." "But if Mrs. Betts should be coming home late!—" "She'd probably be disappointed that it was only I, instead of some other woman's husband." "Nelson, do let me go!…I think we might find easier seats," she laughed, as she came back to him. |
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