By a lucky chance Christmas this year fell upon Monday, thus giving the midshipmen either liberty, or leave, according to their classes, or conduct grade, from Saturday at twelve-thirty to Monday at five-thirty, when those enjoying the latter rare privilege had to report for duty in Bancroft Hall. Christmas leave for the first class was an innovation, which only those on first conduct grade might hope to enjoy. That there was the ghost of a chance of any member of the lower classes coming in for such a rare treat not even the most sanguine dreamed. But, and that BUT was written in italics and capitals, when Captain Stewart made up his mind to do a certain thing it required considerable force of will, stress of circumstances, and concerted opposition to divert him. But the outcome lies in the near future.

The excitement incident to the rescue of Columbine had barely subsided when a telegram brought Peggy the joyful news that Captain Stewart's ship, which had met with some slight accident to her machinery, was to be dry-docked at Norfolk and her father was to have two weeks' leave. The Rhode Island was to be in port at the New York Navy Yard, and this meant the forgathering of all who were nearest and dearest to Peggy and Polly; a rare joy at the holiday season for those connected with the Navy.

Consequently, this year's Yuletide was to be a red letter one in every sense, for Mrs. Howland and Gail, who had spent Thanksgiving in New York, would return to Annapolis for Christmas and, joy of joys! Constance, Snap, and Mr. Harold would come with them.

The telegraph and telephone wires between New York, Norfolk, Washington and Annapolis were in a fair way to become fused.

As many of the girls lived at great distances from Washington, the Christmas Recess began on the twenty-second. Captain Stewart had 'phoned to his party "Heavy marching orders, three P. M., Friday, Dec. 22, 19—." A wild flutter ensued.

The Thanksgiving holiday at Mrs. Harold's had been widely discussed at Columbia Heights and had stirred all sorts of emotions to their very centers. At Captain Stewart's request, Mrs. Harold had sent unique invitations to each of the girls soon after their return to school. They were couched in the formal wording of an official invitation from a battle ship of the fleet and created a sensation.

Natalie, Stella, Nelly, Rosalie, Juno and Marjorie were invited. Lily Pearl's and Helen's attentions to Peggy and Polly having proved abortive, they contrived ways and means of their own to reach the Land o' Heart's Desire. Helen's old bachelor uncle, a queer, dull old gentleman, whose mind was certainly not active, and whom Helen could, figuratively speaking, turn and twist about her little finger, was persuaded to pass the holidays at Wilmot Hall. He knew a number of people in Annapolis, so the path to a certain extent was cleared for Lily Pearl and Helen, though they would have given up all the uncles in Christendom to have been included in that house party. But half a loaf is certainly better than no bread, and once at Annapolis they meant to make the most of that half. So it was with no small degree of triumph that they announced the fact that they, too, would be at the Christmas hop. Just how they intended to manage it they did not disclose. Sufficient unto the hour was to be the triumph thereof.

Captain Stewart arrived on Friday morning in time for luncheon and, guileless man that he has already shown himself to be, promptly offered to "convoy the two little cruisers to Annapolis." His offer was accepted with so many gushing responses that the poor man looked about as bewildered as a great St. Bernard which has inadvertently upset a cage of humming birds, and finds them fluttering all about him. Lily and Helen were of a different type from the girls he knew best, but he accepted the situation gracefully and enjoyed himself hugely with the others, even Marjorie blossoming out wonderfully under his genial kindliness.

Isabel amused him immensely. Isabel was to spend her holiday in Boston, of course, but was to meet a friend in Baltimore who would chaperone the shrinking damsel safely to Mamma's protecting arms. Captain Stewart would escort her to the Naval Academy Junction, from which point it seemed perfectly safe to let her pursue the remaining half hour's journey to Baltimore unattended. In the course of the journey from Washington to the Junction Isabel elected to make some delayed notes in her diary, greatly to the secret amusement of Captain Stewart, who happened to be sitting just behind her.

"Making a list of all your dances and Christmas frolicings, little-er-ahem—, Miss?"

"Boylston, Captain Stewart. Oh, no, I rarely attend dances; there is so much that is instructive to be enjoyed while at home. I am making some notes in my diary."

"Don't say so. Find the outlook inspiring?" Captain Stewart laughed as he looked out upon the dreary landscape, for the afternoon was lowery, and certainly, the cheerless flat landscape between Washington and the Junction was far from thrilling.

"Oh, I am not depending upon my visual sight for my inspiration, Captain Stewart. Don't you think the study of one's fellow beings intensely interesting?'

"Yes, it's a heap cheerier inside the car than outside on this confoundedly soggy day," answered Captain Stewart, preparing to withdraw from an even more depressing atmosphere than that beyond the car windows, by turning to Rosalie, whose eyes were commencing to dance. But Isabel had no idea of foregoing an opportunity to make an impression, little guessing the sort of one she was in reality making.

"Yes, it is exceedingly damp today, but do you think we ought to allow externals to affect us?" she asked.

"Eh? What? I'm afraid you're getting beyond my bearings. Lead won't touch bottom."

Isabel smiled indulgently: One must be tolerant with a person forced to spend his life within the limited bounds of a ship.

"Miss Sturgis, our instructor in sociology, advises us to be very observing and to take notes of everything unusual. You know we shall graduate next year and time passes so swiftly. It seems only yesterday that I entered Columbia Heights School, and here Christmas is upon us. I have so little time left in which to accomplish all I feel I should, and I could not graduate after I'd passed seventeen. I'd die of mortification. And, oh, that fact holds a suggestion. Pardon me if I make a note of it, and—and—how do you spell accomplished, Captain Stewart? I really have so little time to give to etymology."

For one second Captain Stewart looked at the girl as though he thought she might possibly be running him. He was more accustomed to the fun-loving, joking girl than to this "cellar-grown turnip" as he mentally stigmatized her. Then the little imps in Rosalie's eyes proved his undoing:

"I'm afraid I'm no good as an English prof. Reckon I'd spell it akomplish. Sounds as good as any other way. You'll know what it means when you overhaul it anyhow. But here we are at the Junction. Pipe overside, bo's'n," he cried to Peggy.

Good-bys were hastily spoken and Captain Stewart soon had his party hurrying across the platform to the Annapolis car. As he settled Rosalie in her seat he asked:

"How many Miss Boylstons have you got at Columbia Heights?"

"Only one, thank the powers!" answered Rosalie fervently.

It was nearly six when the electric cars rolled up to the rear of Wilmot Hall and the girls saw Mrs. Harold, and a number of the midshipmen of the first class lined up and eagerly watching for the particular "she" who would spend the holidays in Annapolis.

A mob of squabbling boys made a mad rush for the car steps in the hope of securing suitcases to carry into the hotel, and had not the midshipmen swept them aside, further progress for the car's passengers would have been barred. The hoodlums of the town seem to spring from the very ground upon the arrival of a car at Wilmot and certainly make life a burden for travelers trying to descend the car steps.

There was only time for general greetings just then, as all hurried into Wilmot to meet old friends and new ones, Mrs. Howland, Constance, Snap, Gail and Mr. Harold having already arrived.

Pending the departure for Severndale, Mrs. Harold had, at Captain Stewart's request, engaged three extra rooms, thus practically preempting her entire corridor for her guests, and a jollier party it would have been hard to find than the one escorted down to the big dining-room that evening by "The Executive Officer," as Captain Stewart called Mrs. Harold, who was acting as chaperone for his party.

Directly dinner ended Captain Stewart and Commander Harold left upon some mysterious mission which threw the girls into a wild flutter of curiosity.

"Oh, what is it all about?" demanded Rosalie.

"Can't tell one single thing until Daddy Neil says I may," laughed Peggy.

"Does Polly know?" asked Natalie.

Peggy nodded.

"You'll have to bottle up your impatience for an hour or two. Go to your rooms and shake out your pretties for tomorrow night's frolic, for I am going to 'pipe down' early tonight. When you have finished stowing your lockers come back to the sitting-room and we'll have a quiet, cozy time until our commanding officers return. Constance, Gail and Snap must make a call this evening, but I'm not going to let anyone claim my time. It all belongs to my girls," said Mrs. Harold gaily, as she and Mrs. Howland seated themselves before the open fire.

The girls hurried away to do her bidding, for it had been decided to remain at Wilmot until after the Christmas hop, all going out to Severndale by a special car when the dance was over, Harrison, Mammy and Jerome, under Mrs. Harold's tactful generalship, having made all preparations for the big house party.

In a few moments the girls returned from unpacking their suitcases.

The Thanksgiving visit had removed all sense of reserve or strangeness with Mrs. Harold, but they did not know Mrs. Howland, and for a moment there seemed an ominous lull. Then Peggy crying:

"I want my old place, Little Mother," nestled softly upon the arm of the big morris-chair in which Mrs. Harold sat, and rested her head against Mrs. Harold. The other girls had dropped upon chairs, but Mrs. Harold was minded to have her charges pro tem at closer range, so releasing herself from Peggy's circling arm for a moment, she reached for two plump cushions upon the couch near at hand and flopping them down, one at either knee said: "Juno on this one, Rosalie on the other; Marjorie beside me and Natalie, Stella and Nelly with Polly," for Polly had already cuddled down upon her mother's chair.

Before the words had well left her lips, Rosalie had sprung to her coign of vantage crying:

"Oh, Mrs. Harold, you are the dearest chappie I ever knew, and it's already been ten times lovelier than Polly and Peggy ever could describe it."

With a happy little laugh, Natalie promptly seated herself upon the arm of Mrs. Howland's chair, but Juno hesitated a moment, looking doubtfully at the cushion. Juno was a very up-to-date young lady as to raiment. How could she flop down as Rosalie had done while wearing a skirt which measured no more than a yard around at the hem, and geared up in an undergarment which defied all laws of anatomy by precluding the possibility of bending at the waist line? She looked at Mrs. Harold and she looked at the cushion. As her boys would have expressed it "the Little Mother was not slow in catching on." She now laughed outright. Juno did not know whether to resent it or join in the laugh too. There was something about the older woman, however, which aroused in girls a sense of camaraderie rather than reserve, though Juno had never quite been able to analyze it. She smiled, and by some form of contortion of which necessity and long practice had made her a passed mistress, contrived to get herself settled upon the cushion.

"Honey," said Mrs. Harold, patting her shoulder, "if you want to live up to your name you'll discard your coat of mail. Your namesake would have scorned its limitations, and your young figure will be far lovelier and more graceful, to say nothing of the benefit to yourself and future generations, if you heave your armor plate overboard."

It was all said half-jestingly, half-seriously, but Juno gave her head a superior little toss as she answered:

"And go looking like a meal sack? To say nothing of flinging away twenty perfectly good dollars just paid to Madam Malone."

"I'm afraid I'm a very old-fashioned old lady, but I have no notion of letting any Madam Malone, or any other French lady from Erin dictate my fashions, or curtail the development and use of my muscles; I have too much use for them. Do Peggy and Polly resemble 'meal sacks?' Yet no Madam Malone has ever had the handling of their floating-ribs, let me tell you. Watch out, little girl, for a nervous, semi-invalid womanhood is a high price to pay for a pair of corsets at seventeen. There, my lecture is over and now let's talk of earthquakes."

At her aunt's question regarding Peggy and herself resembling "meal sacks," Polly laughed aloud and being in a position to practically demonstrate the freedom which a sensibly full skirt afforded, cried:

"If I couldn't run when I felt like it I'd die. I tell you, when I strike heavy weather I want my rigging ship-shape. I'd hate to scud under bare poles."

The subject was changed but the words were not forgotten. The other girls had all gathered about the blazing logs upon cushions or hassocks, and a pretty group they formed as they talked eagerly of the coming hop, and tried to guess what Captain Stewart was planning, Mrs. Harold and Mrs. Howland joining enthusiastically in it all.

"Tanta," asked Polly, "do you know that Lily Pearl Montgomery and Helen Doolittle are here at Wilmot with Helen's uncle? We have christened him 'Foxy Grandpa.' Just wait till you see him. He looks the character exactly."

"Are they to go to the hop?" asked Mrs. Harold, instantly interested, for even though she had heard amusing tales of the two girls, they were still young girls, and she was concerned for their happiness and pleasure.

"We don't know and we didn't like to seem inquisitive," replied Polly.

"Yes, they are going, Little Mother. Helen told me so. Foxy Grandpa knows somebody who knows somebody else, who knows the boys who are to take them, but they didn't tell us their names. I wonder if we know them," was Peggy's laughing explanation.

"I hope they will have a happy time," said Mrs. Howland gently as she stroked back Polly's silky curls.

"You trust them to have the time of their lives, Mumsey. But oh, isn't it good to be here!" and Polly favored her mother with an ecstatic hug.

"What time are we to go to Severndale tomorrow, Little Mother?" asked Peggy.

"Not until after the hop, dear. It will be very late, I know, but Christmas is a special day of days. That is the reason I'm going to send you all off early tonight. Nine-thirty gunfire will see you started for the Land o' Nod."

"Aren't we to wait until Daddy Neil comes back?"

"Not unless he gets back before three bells and it looks doubtful, two have already struck. But you'll learn the news the first thing in the morning."

But at that moment Captain Stewart came breezing into the room. Peggy and Polly flew to him crying:

"Did he say yes? Did he say yes? Oh, answer, quick! Do!" they begged, each clasping arms about him.

"If I answer quick you'll both cast loose but the longer I keep you in suspense the longer you'll lay hold," was his quizzical retort.

"We won't stir. We won't budge. Tell us."

For answer Captain Stewart drew an official-looking document from his blouse pocket and waved it high above the girls' heads. A series of ecstatic squeals arose from them. Opening the carefully folded paper he read its stereotyped phrasing, all of which is too serious to be herein repeated. Suffice it to say that it secured for

Durand Leroux, Second Class
Herbert Taylor, Second Class
Ralph Wilber, Third Class
Jean Paul Nichols, Third Class
Gordon Powers, Third Class
Douglas Porter, Third Class

leave of absence under Captain Neil Stewart's orders from 6:30 P. M., December 23rd, to 6 P. M., December 25th, 19—.

When the excitement had somewhat subsided, Captain Stewart said:

"Now that I'm sure of it, I must go 'phone out to Severndale or Jerome and Harrison will be throwing fits. We'll have to quarter that bunch in the old wing, but Lord bless my soul, I reckon they'd be willing to go out to the paddock. But mind, you girls, not one whisper of it to those boys, until I give the word, or it will be the brig for every mother's daughter of you," and with this terrifying threat he strode off down the corridor.

Just then three bells struck in the tower and at the second stroke the nine-thirty gun boomed out its welcome "Release."

As the sound died away Mrs. Harold walked over to the big window calling to the girls to join her.

"Stand here a moment," she said, then going over to the electric switch turned off all the lights.

"Why? What?" cried all the girls excepting Peggy and Polly.

"Look at the windows on the third deck of Bancroft, southwest corner," she said, unhooking a drop light from above her desk and crossing the room to the puzzled girls. "Those are Durand's and Bert's rooms. Next to them are Gordon's and Doug's. Watch closely."

Presently from two of the windows lights were flashed three times in rapid succession. Then absolute darkness.

Instantly Mrs. Harold turned the reflector of her drop light toward the academy in such a way that the light would be cast out across the night, then by turning the key on and off quickly she flashed its rays three times, paused a moment, then repeated the signal.

Instantly from the rooms mentioned came the answering flashes, which after a brief interval were repeated, Mrs. Harold again giving her reply.

"Oh, who does it? What is it for? What do they mean?" asked her visitors.

"Just our usual good-night message to each other. My boys are all dear to me, but Durand and Gordon peculiarly so. Those rooms are theirs. Shall I tell you the message the flashes carry? It is just a little honor code. I want the boys to stand well this term, but, like most boys they are always ready for skylarking, and the work from seven-thirty to nine-thirty is easily side-tracked. So we have agreed to exchange a message at gunfire if 'all is well.' If they have been boning tomorrow's work my flash light is answered; if not—well, I see no answering flash."

"Do you think they always live up to the agreement?" asked Rosalie.

"I have faith to believe they do. Isn't it always better to believe a person honest until we prove him a thief, than to go the other way about it? Besides, they carry the Talisman."

"What is it—Little Mother?" asked Juno, to the surprise of the others, slipping to Mrs. Harold's side and placing her arm about her.

"Would you really like to know, dear? Suppose we throw on a fresh log and leave the lights turned off. Then we'll have a confidential ten minutes before you go to bed. You can all cuddle down in a pile on the big bearskin."

A moment later the flames formed a brilliant background to a pretty picture, and Mrs. Harold was repeating softly, as the upspringing flames filled the room with, their light and rested lovingly upon the young faces upturned to here:

"Each night when three bells strike the hour
Up in the old clock's lofty tower,
A flashing beam, a darting ray
Their message of good faith convey.
"Those wavering, clear, electric beams,
Who'll guess how much their message means?
Or dream the wondrous tale they tell?
'Dear Little Mother, all is well.'
"Yes, out across the peaceful night,
By moon and stars made silvery bright,
This message comes in gleaming light:
We've kept the faith; Good-night! Good-night!
"Our token of a duty done,
An effort made, a victory won;
The bond on which we claim the right
To flash our message, our 'Good-night.'
"Dear Little Mother. Precious name!
None sweeter may a woman claim,
No greater honor hope to gain
Than this which three short words contain.
"To win and hold a love so pure,
A faith so stanch, so strong, so sure—
To gain a confidence so rare—
What honors can with these compare?
"No wonder as I flash my ray
Across the night's dividing way,
In deepest reverence I say:
God keep you true, dear lads, alway."

The girls' good-nights were spoken very tenderly. The message of the lights had carried one to them as well.