On every Christmas morning it was the custom of Amzi's sisters to repair with their several families to his house, carrying their gifts and bearing thence such presents as he might bestow. The Fosdicks and the Watermans had children, and these were encouraged to display themselves frequently at their uncle's. And Amzi was kind and generous in his relations with all of them. Amzi Waterman and Amzi Fosdick, still in short trousers, had been impressed at their respective homes with the importance of ingratiating themselves with Uncle Amzi, and Amzi, fully cognizant of this, was an ideal uncle to each impartially. Mrs. Fosdick hoped that her little Susan would be as thoroughly established in Amzi's regard as Phil; there was always Phil,—that unbridled, unbroken, fearless young mustang of a Phil.

Amzi was down early giving the final revision to his list of presents. Having found in years gone by that it was decidedly unsafe to buy gifts for his sisters, as they were never satisfied with his selections and poorly concealed their displeasure, he had latterly adopted the policy of giving each of them one hundred dollars in gold.

Ten was the usual hour for the family gathering, and as the clock struck, Amzi began wandering through the house restlessly. Occasionally he grinned, and said "Thunder!" quietly to himself. In the night watches he had pondered the advisability of warning Lois's sisters of her return; but he saw nothing to be gained by this. Something of Lois's serene indifference had communicated itself to him; and as an attentive student of the continuing human comedy he speculated cheerfully as to the length and violence of the impending storm. Kirkwood had never participated in these Christmas morning visits, and Phil usually dropped in after her aunts had departed. It seemed easier to let Fate take charge of the disclosure.

A door slammed in the upper hall, and Amzi heard the colored woman descending the back stairs. Lois was having her breakfast in her room, an unprecedented circumstance in the domestic economy. Then Jeremiah was summoned to distribute the much-belabeled trunks. Amzi's sensations during these unwonted excitements were, on the whole, not disagreeable. The invasion of his bachelor privacy was too complete for any minute analysis of what he liked or didn't like. It was a good deal of a joke,—this breakfasting in bed, this command of the resources of his establishment to scatter trunks about. As he crossed the hall he was arrested by a cheerful "Merry Christmas."

Lois, in a pink kimona, smilingly waved her hand from the top step where she sat composedly watching him.

"Merry Christmas!" he called back.

"Here's a present for you,—got it in Paris, special. If you don't like it, I'll trade you another for it. Catch!"

She tossed him a box containing a scarfpin, and she nursed her knees, humming to herself and clicking her slipper heels while he examined it. She interrupted his stammered thanks to ask whether any of the "folks" had been in yet.

She had dressed her hair in the prevailing pompadour fashion, which was highly becoming; and the kimona imparted to her face a soft rose color. She was a pretty rose of a woman, and he leaned against the newel and regarded her with appreciation.

"I slept like a top; it's as still as the woods around here. I suppose Montgomery's never going to grow much; and it's just as well. What's property worth a front foot on Main Street,—oh, say within a couple of blocks of the court-house?"

"About five hundred dollars, I guess."

She lifted her head as though thinking deeply."Real estate's the only thing, if you get into it right. You were never much on speculation, were you, Amzi? Well, you were wise to keep out of it. It takes imagination—" She brushed the subject away gracefully. "You still own a farm or two?"

"Yes."

"I always thought I'd like to go in for farming sometime. I've looked into the fruit business out West and there must be a lot of cheap land in Indiana that would do splendidly for apples. There's no reason why you should have to pay the freight on apples all the way from Oregon. Ever tackled apples?"

"Yes; I have an orchard or two," he admitted wonderingly.

If he had spent the night guessing what subject she would choose for a morning confab, apple culture would not have been on the list. He had thought that perhaps the day would bring a torrent of questions about old friends, but she seemed more aloof than ever. The pearl in his scarfpin was a splendid specimen; he roughly calculated that it represented an expenditure of at least a hundred dollars; and she had flung it at him as carelessly as though she were tossing cherries from a tree.

"Can I do anything for you about the trunks? You can have Jerry as long as you like."

"Oh, I shan't work on that job all day. It's too much bother. I'll dig the stuff out gradually. I'll have to throw most of it away anyhow. I've got everything I own in that pile. I suppose I'd better get dressed—What did you say about the morning gathering,—is it a ceremonial affair?"

"Well, the girls have liked to do it that way,—all come in a bunch after their home doings."

"That's very nice, really picturesque! I suppose they're all a lot of comfort to you, living alone this way. Do they dine here to-day? How about Tom and Phil?"

It was clear from her tone that the identity of his guests was a negligible matter. She mentioned her former husband without emotion, and her tone implied no particular interest in the answer.

"We were all of us to dine with Josie to-day; we sort o' move around, and it's her turn; but if you'd rather stay here we'll have dinner together or any way you like. Tom never mixes up in the dinner parties. But Phil will be here after a while; say about eleven. You'd better be ready."

"Certainly; I'll get into some other clothes right away." She stood, lifted her arms, and stretched herself lazily. "It's nice to see you looking so well; but Sarah confided to me when she brought up my breakfast that you eat altogether too much. Sarah's very nice; I like Sarah. And I can see that Jerry dotes on you. You're pampered, Amzi; I can see that you don't resist the temptation to stuff yourself with Sarah's cooking. I'd be a roly-poly myself if I didn't cut off starch and sweets now and then."

There was a sound of steps at the front door, followed by a prolonged tinkle of the doorbell. Amzi glanced up to make sure she was out of sight. He heard her humming as she passed down the hall to her room and then he rubbed his head vigorously as though rallying his wits in readiness for the invasion, and flung open the door.

The two young Amzis and little Susan greeted him effusively and he yielded himself with avuncular meekness to their embraces. They had come bearing gifts which they bestowed upon him noisily, while the remainder of the delegation crowded in. His three sisters kissed him in succession, in the ascending order of age, and he shook hands with his brothers-in-law.

"Morning, Amzi!"

"Morning, Lawrence!"

"Morning, Amzi!"

"Morning, Paul!"

"Morning, Amzi!"

"Morning, Alec!"

These greetings were as stiff as those that pass between a visiting statesman and the local yeomanry at a rural reception. Lawrence, Paul, and Alec undoubtedly hated this perfunctory annual tribute to the head of the house of Montgomery, but Amzi liked the perpetuation of his father's house as a family center. It did not matter that greed and sentimentalism were back of his sisters' stubborn devotion to the Montgomery tradition; with him it was an honest sentiment; and as to their avarice, to which he was not insensible, it should be said that charity was not least among his rugged virtues.

He made a lark of opening his gifts for the delight of the children. A truce had been effected between the Fosdicks and Watermans by which each of the young Amzis bestowed a box of neckties of approximately the same value upon their uncle. Little Susan gave him a muffler; the sisters had joined in a new easy chair which Jeremiah now carried in; their husbands had combined in their usual tribute of cigars. A toy and a five-dollar gold-piece for each child; the little chamois-skin bags of gold-pieces for the sisters; a book for each brother-in-law, completed Amzi's offerings. He announced to the children that he was going to build a toboggan in the back yard for their joint use just as soon as spring came. This was a surprise and called forth much joyous chorusing from the youngsters, whose parents viewed this pendant to the expected gifts with satisfaction, as indicating the increasing warmth of Amzi's affection for their children.

"You are always generous, Amzi," said Mrs. Waterman fervidly. "You can put the toboggan on our lot if you like."

"And cut down the trees! I should rather do without it than destroy a single one of the old beeches," averred Mrs. Hastings, who, having no children to enjoy the felicities of tobogganing, was not deeply interested in the project.

"No trees shall be cut down," replied Amzi quickly; "I'm going to put it on my own place. You can't tell but I may use it myself more or less—after dark. The children won't mind, and the doctors say I need exercise."Mrs. Waterman pinched her young Amzi, who sweetly chirruped, "We'd love to have you use it, Uncle Amzi."

"If Uncle Amzi falls off and breaks hims neck, it would be so fun-nee," piped Susan delightedly.

"Susan!" exclaimed Susan's mother, lifting a severe finger.

"It would be fun-nee. Wouldn't it be fun-nee, Aunt Katie? Danny Holton, he fell off hims bicycle going down hims toboggan and breaked one leg; and it ain't got mended yet. And papa says Uncle Amzi's so fat an' he tumble on the ice it would smash him like a old cucumber. Yes, I did, too, hear him say it. Didn't you hear him say it, mamma?"

Mrs. Fosdick had heard nothing of the kind, for the excellent reason, as her husband declared, that no such impious thought had ever crossed his mind, much less expressed itself in Susan's presence.

Amzi roared with delight, caught up Susan and planted her on his shoulder. Even if Paul Fosdick really had compared him to a mature cucumber it did not greatly matter. Fanny Fosdick glared at her Paul. All the adults present except Amzi were plainly distressed. Mrs. Hastings, being childless and therefore entitled to her opinions as to the rearing of children, resolved that at last she must speak to Fanny about Susie. And all this embarrassment and irritation by the guileless Susie had not disturbed Amzi one whit. Amzi had no intention of rewriting his will to punish Susie, or her forbears.

Hastings, gloomily inhaling a cigarette, turned over the pages of the book which Amzi had given him. It was a late study of the art of Henry Irving, and its bestowal had been a conscious flattery on Amzi's part. Still, it touched unhappy chords in Hastings's bosom. Who was better equipped than he to catch up the fallen mantle of Irving? And here he lay impotent in the hands of the fates that had set him down in a dull village, without means even to hang a moving-picture screen upon the deserted stage of his theater.Amzi, having crawled over the floor with Susie at some personal inconvenience and distress, was now helping his namesakes to set up the engines he had given them, while their mothers murmured suggestions and warnings. Waterman stood at the window looking out upon the snow-covered lawn. Fosdick scanned the market page in Amzi's copy of the Indianapolis "Advertiser." It was in Waterman's mind that if he had the essential funds he might the next year renew his assaults upon the halls of Congress. The brothers-in-law distrusted and disliked each other. Each, after his fashion, was a failure; and the angle of their several failures had become acute. Their wives made a brave showing to the public and to each other; there was always the Montgomery pride to be sustained.

Amzi, having abandoned the field of engineering to his nephews, contemplated the scene philosophically with his back to the fire. His sisters discussed the annual ball to be given in January by the Sons of Montgomery. They were on the invitation committee, and were confronted with the usual problems of elimination. There was a standard to maintain, and the Newells, who had just moved from Ladoga, and set up a new house and a six-cylinder automobile, were, as every one was saying, such nice people; and Newell undoubtedly made a lot of money out of his sawmills; and all that. They were painfully conscious that their husbands were not amusing Amzi or each other.

"Where's Phil, Amzi?" asked Mrs. Waterman.

"Phil hasn't showed up yet. I guess she'll be along pretty soon."

"Tom has had her with him over at Indianapolis all week. I don't think he ought to take her over there, to run around town while he's busy. She's had so little experience, and with her heedlessness; and all—"

Mrs. Waterman left the conclusion to their imaginations, and as Amzi made no response and as the other gentlemen seemed indifferent, Mrs. Fosdick threw a bit of kindling upon the dull ashes of the conversation."Mary Fanning said she saw Phil on the street with a young man over at Indianapolis, only last Tuesday. It isn't fair of Tom; or right, Amzi—"

"Thunder! I heard what Mary was saying. She saw Phil in Washington Street, with Charlie Holton. What have you girls got against Charlie? If it hadn't been for you Phil wouldn't have known him."

"Oh, there's nothing against Charlie; he's a fine fellow. I didn't know it was Charlie," she ended weakly.

"Well, it was Charlie. Nan Bartlett heard what Mary was saying, and asked her about it, and that was all there was to it: she saw Phil and Charlie walking along Washington Street, just as they might walk down Main Street here at home if they happened to meet. And for that matter Phil hasn't been depending on her father for amusement over there. She's been visiting the Fitches—the lawyer Fitch, of Wright and Fitch. Tom's been offered a place in the firm; they're the best lawyers in Indiana; and I guess there's nothing the matter with Mrs. Fitch, is there?"

This was not only news, but it was astonishing news. Mrs. Fitch's name not only guaranteed a scrupulous chaperonage, but the fact that Phil was a guest in her house was significant of Tom Kirkwood's standing at the capital and of Phil's social acceptance by a woman whose name was constantly impressed upon all students of the society columns of the Indianapolis newspapers.

"The last time I was over I saw Mrs. Fitch in a box at the theater, and I must say that I couldn't do much for her clothes," remarked Mrs. Hastings.

"You didn't have to do anything for them," said Amzi amiably. "Here, Jerry, put that down on the side table."

Jeremiah had appeared with a tray that supported a huge bowl. This followed established custom: eggnog was always served at these gatherings of the clan. Amzi sent the darky away and began filling the glasses, as he liked to serve the tipple himself. The faces of his brothers-in-law brightened. The persistence with which their wives fussed about Phil exasperated them, and their attacks upon their niece, open or veiled, always roused Amzi. And there was nothing whatever to be gained, as they knew from long experience, by suggesting Phil's delinquencies. The husbands of Phil's aunts admired Phil; the more the girl annoyed her aunts, the more they admired her.

"Why doesn't Phil come?" demanded Fosdick. "The circle isn't complete without her."

Mrs. Waterman had several times during the hour pricked up her ears at sounds above which she was unable to adjust to her knowledge of Amzi's mÉnage. The step on the floor above was not that of the heavy-footed Sarah, nor yet that of the shuffling Jeremiah. Sarah could be heard in the kitchen, and Jeremiah was even now passing cakes and orange juice to the children at the dining-room table.

"Amzi, who's upstairs?" demanded Mrs. Waterman.

"Upstairs? Thunder! A woman!"

Whereupon Amzi, having handed round the eggnog, stood sipping a glass contentedly in his favorite post by the hearth.

"A woman upstairs!"

"Yep. She's a woman."

"Amzi!"

Their backs grew rigid. They had never believed their brother capable of such a thing. They exchanged glances that telegraphed the horror of this depravity. If it had been any one else on earth! And the brazenness of it! Hastings and Fosdick grinned at each other, as much as to say that after all you never can tell. It was a pleasant discovery that their brother-in-law was only human. The cheek of the thing was stupendous; his indifference to the fine scorn of their impeccable wives was superb. Hereafter those ladies would be more tolerant of weak and erring man.

Amzi rocked himself on his heels, ignoring them. He had wondered why Lois did not add herself to the family circle. He, too, had heard her quick steps on the floor above, and had grown impatient at her long delay; but that was part of the joke of it all: Lois would take her time and appear when it suited her convenience. Not for gold, not for much fine gold would he have preluded her approach with any warning. And their ready assumption that they had caught him in an act of impropriety tickled him tremendously. They were all listening now; and there was undeniably something really naughty and devilish in the patter of those French heels!

A door above closed with a bang. The shameless creature was tripping downstairs as gayly as though the house belonged to her. The ease of her descent spoke for youth; it was in three minds that old fools are always more susceptible to the wiles of young adventuresses. The sisters averted their faces from the contaminating sight. Amzi was crossing the room and reached the open door as it framed his sister. He had a fine, instinctive sense of courtesy and even his pudgy figure could not diminish his dignity. He took Lois by the hand and led her to the broad hearth as though the fireplace symbolized the domestic altar, and he was restoring her to its protection.

"This is Lois," he said simply, as she swung round; and as they stared dully he repeated, "This is Lois."

Mrs. Fosdick was nearest, and Mrs. Holton put out her hand to her.

"Well, Fanny!" she said; and then, sweeping them all with her smile, "Merry Christmas!"

Her clasp of Mrs. Fosdick's hand seemed to bring them all to their feet, and she moved quickly from one to the other, with some commonplace of greeting, and a bright smile for each. Clasping the hands of Kate and Josephine together she looked from one to the other and said in her pleasant voice,—

"How like old times it seems; and how nice to come in on you all at Christmas! You are a bit stouter—you two—but Fanny hasn't changed a bit. Alec"—she swung round toward the bewildered men—"I don't believe you know me, but I should have recognized you anywhere. Please, now, which is which of you?"

"That's Paul Fosdick, Lois; and that's Lawrence Hastings. Gentlemen, Mrs. Holton."

"Very glad to meet you, gentlemen. Odd, isn't it? that this should be the first time!"

She gave them her hand in turn in her quick graceful way. Since marrying into the family they had heard much of this Lois, and lo! their preconceived notions of her went down with a bang. They had been misled and deceived; she was not that sort of person at all! She had effected as by a miracle a change in the atmosphere of the room. It was as though the first daffodil had daringly lifted its head under a leaden February sky. Amzi, prepared for an explosion, marveled that none had shaken the house from its foundations. But while the masculine members of the family yielded up their arms without a struggle their wives were fortifying themselves against the invader. Amzi's conduct was wholly reprehensible; he had no right to permit and sanction Lois's return; the possibilities implied in her coming were tremendous and far-reaching. It was a staggering blow, this unlooked-for return. While their husbands stood grinning before the shameless woman, they conferred in glances, furtively looking from each other to the prodigal. Amzi fortified himself with another glass of eggnog.

Lois had dominated the scene from the moment of her appearance. Her entrance had been the more startling by reason of its very simplicity. She was taking everything as a matter of course, quite as though there were nothing extraordinary in the parting of the waters to afford her passage dry shod, through those sixteen years, to a promised land imaginably represented by Montgomery. Her sisters, huddled by the center table, struggled against their impotence to seize the situation. This was not their idea of the proper return of a woman who had sinned against Heaven, to say nothing of the house of Montgomery. Their course was the more difficult by reason of their ignorance of the cause of her descent upon them. Amzi should suffer for this; but first she must be dealt with; and they meant to deal with her. Their rage surged the more hotly as they saw their husbands' quick capitulation. They, too, should be dealt with!

"Let us all sit down and be comfortable," said Lois easily, and Hastings and Fosdick bumped heads in their mad haste to place a chair for her.

Hastings, with his theatric instincts stimulated, and realizing that silence would give the massed artillery of the enemy a chance to thunder, immediately engaged the newcomer in conversation. Paris and its theaters served admirably as a theme. Lois clearly knew her Paris well; and she had met Rostand—at a garden party—and spoke of the contemporaneous French drama with the light touch of sophistication. French phrases slipped from her tongue trippingly, and added to her charm and mystery, her fellowship with another and wider world. From Hastings she turned to embrace them all in her talk. The immobile countenances of her sisters, reflecting stubborn resentment and antagonism, were without effect upon her. Instead of sitting before them as the villainess of this domestic drama, a culprit arraigned for her manifold wickednesses, she was beyond question the heroine of the piece.

"You remember, Fanny, what a hard business we used to make of our French? Well, in Seattle I had a lot of time on my hands and I put in a good deal of it studying languages. There was a wonderful Frenchwoman out there and I got her to teach me,—all good fun, with her; we used to go places together, and I finally reached the point where I could talk back to a French waiter. I really believe I could set up as a teacher now without being indicted for taking money under false pretenses. You have been over, haven't you, Kate? It seems to me I heard of your being there; but you might all have gone round the world a dozen times! Whose children are those out there? Bring them in and let me have a look at them."The children were brought in by their fathers and presented without any interruption to her flow of talk. She let fall a question here and there that was presumably directed to one or the other of her sisters, but their faint, reluctant answers apparently did not disturb her. She was treating them as though they were dingy frumps; and they revolted against all this prattle about Paris. It was distinctly unbecoming in a woman whose sins were so grievous to ripple on so light-heartedly about the unholiest of cities when they sat there as jurors waiting to hear her plea for mercy.

"Susan, you dear angel, come here!"

Susie toddled into her aunt's arms, raised a face that stickily testified to her Uncle Amzi's plentiful provision of candy, and was kissed. Mrs. Waterman, formulating a plan of campaign, took a step toward Susan as though to save the child from this desecration of its innocence; but a glance from Amzi gave her pause.

"Oo have booful clothes. Whas oor name?"

"I'm a new aunt; I'm your Aunt Lois. You never heard of me, did you? Well, it doesn't matter the tiniest little bit. Something tells me that we're going to get on famously. I shouldn't wonder, I shouldn't wonder at all, Susan, if we became the best of friends."

Her voice softened into new and charming tones. She held the sticky, chubby hands unmindfully. She was one of those women who are incapable of an awkward attitude. The child lingered, examining with wide-eyed scrutiny the enchantments of the new lady's apparel.

"She's charming, Fanny," Lois remarked, glancing up suddenly at Susan's mother; "a perfectly adorable baby."

"Oo going to stay in this house? This Uncle Amzi ims house."

"Now, Susan, do you really want me to stay?"

Susan surveyed her newfound aunt gravely before passing upon this question that was so much more momentous than she realized. Lois, bending forward in her low chair with her head slightly to one side, met the child's gaze with like gravity. It might have been assumed from her manner that she attached the greatest importance to Susan's verdict; there may even have been an appeal in the brown eyes; but if there was it was an affair between the woman and the child in which the spectators had no share.

Susan swallowed.

"Oo stay and play wif me. Uncle Amzi ims going to make big toboggan in ims yard and oo can slide down wif me. And Phil she come and play. Phil make me bow and arroo and Phil, her shooted it at old rooster and ims est runned and runned."

"How splendid!" laughed Lois.

"You may go now, Susan," said her mother, feeling that this flirtation had progressed far enough.

Thus admonished Susan withdrew, while her brother and cousin submitted themselves to the new aunt's closer inspection.

"Two Amzis! It's quite fine of you to perpetuate the name, girls. You must be sure, boys, always to spell your name out; don't hide in behind an initial. These old Bible names are a lot better than these new fancy ones. There must be a million Donalds and Dorothys right now scattered over the United States. Where do you go to school, boys?"

She plainly interested them. She was a new species, and had for them the charm of strangeness. She wore on her wrist a tiny watch, the like of which they had never seen before, and one of them poked it shyly with his finger. She accommodatingly slipped it off and gave it to them to examine, telling them of the beautiful shop in Geneva where she had bought it. Susan returned to share in these further revelations by the wonderful lady. The spectacle of their children gathered at the erring Lois's knees, filled the watchful sisters with dismay. The ease of the woman's conquests, her continued indifference to their feelings, caused their indignation to wax hot.

"The children must go. Run along home now, and, boys, see that Susie gets home safely. No; you must go at once!" said Mrs. Waterman.

"Oo bring lady home to ours house, mamma; my wants to play with lady's watch."

"Skip along, Susan; you'll have lots of time to play with my watch," said Lois. "Oh, wait a minute!"

Jeremiah was bringing fresh glasses for the eggnog, and she sent him to her room to bring down some packages she had left on her bed.

While he was gone she romped with Susan, running back through the hall into the dining-room with the chirruping child trotting after her, and paused breathless as Jeremiah placed the parcels on the center table.

"That is altogether unnecessary; the children have had enough presents," said Mrs. Fosdick. "The children must go at once."

"Oh, these are only trifles; just a minute more," Lois flung over her shoulder.

She peered into a box, inspected the contents with a moment's quick appraisement, and clasped on Susie's chubby wrist a tiny bracelet.

"There, Susan! What do you think of that?"

Susan thought well of it beyond question and trotted to her mother to exhibit the treasure.

Three pairs of eyes looked upon the trinket coldly. Careless of their scorn Lois was enjoying the mystification of the young Amzis, to whom she held out two boxes and bade them make a choice. She laughed merrily when they opened them and found two silver watches as like as two peas.

There was no questioning Lois's complete success with the children. Their fathers responded in grateful praise of the gifts: their Uncle Amzi said "Thunder!" and expressed his delight.

"Now, you youngsters run along or I'll get scolded for keeping you. Scoot!"

Lois urged them to the door, where Susan presented her face for further osculation."You shouldn't have done that, Lois; it was altogether unnecessary," announced Mrs. Fosdick.

"Oh, those things! they're not of the slightest importance. I didn't know just how many youngsters you had, and the shops over there are simply irresistible."

She ladled herself a glass of eggnog composedly, as though wholly unconscious that the withdrawal of the noncombatants had cleared the field for battle.

The sisters, having sipped Amzi's Christmas tipple apprehensively, noted that this was Lois's second glass.

"Well, what are you all doing with yourselves?" she asked, sinking into a chair. "Kate, I believe I look more like you than either Fanny or Jo. I think you are taller than I am, but we have the same complexion. My face is all chopped up from the sea; it was the worst crossing I ever made, but I only missed one day on deck. The captain is the best of fellows and kept an officer trailing me to see that I didn't tumble overboard."

She glanced at Hastings as though he were more likely than the others to respond to observations on sea travel. He declared that he always preferred winter crossings; it was the only way to feel the power and majesty of the sea.

"I always feel so," said Lois.

Amzi fidgeted about the room, wishing they would all go.

"Lois," said Mrs. Waterman, gathering herself together, "you will understand, of course, that we don't mean to be unkind, but we feel that we have a right—that it is only proper and just for us to know why you have come back in this way, without giving us any warning, so that we might prepare ourselves—"

Lois's brows lifted slightly; the slim fingers of her right hand clasped the gold band by which the blue enameled watch was attached to her left wrist. She tilted her head to one side, as though mildly curious as to the drift of her sister's remark.

"Oh, you mustn't mind that at all! I should have been sorry if you had gone to any trouble for me. Dropping in this way, what should one expect?" A pretty shrug expressed her feeling that nothing at all had been expected. "Jo, do you remember that time you were running from Captain Joshua Wilson's cow, in his pasture over there beyond the college, and you fell over a fence and cracked a tooth, and how you bawled about it? And I suppose that gold tooth is a memento of the occasion. We used to be the maddest of harum-scarums in those days!"

It was not wholly kind, perhaps, for a woman whose white, even teeth were undisfigured by fillings thus to direct attention to the marks of the dentist's tool in her sister's mouth. And yet Lois had not meant to be unkind; the past as symbolized by Captain Wilson's cow sent her off tangentially into the recent history of Captain Joshua's family, and she demanded information as to the Wilsons' daughter Amanda, who ran away and married an army officer she had met at Columbus, Ohio. As the sisters had never liked Amanda Wilson, they were not pleased to be obliged to confess that the marriage had been a satisfactory one in every particular, and that Amanda's husband was now a colonel. The barometer fell steadily and the gloom of the Arctic night deepened in the faces of the trio.

"Anybody have any more eggnog?" asked Amzi guilelessly.

"I think," said Mrs. Fosdick furiously, "that we've all had enough of that stuff."

This was the least bit pointed, as her husband was at that moment filling a fourth glass for himself.

Mrs. Waterman renewed her attack, drawing nearer to the culprit.

"Of course, you realize, Lois, that after all that has happened, your coming back here, particularly unannounced, creates a very delicate situation. It can't be possible that you don't understand how it complicates things—that as a matter of fact—"

"Oh, as a matter of fact it's a great bore to talk of it! I suppose I'm the one that's likely to be most annoyed, but you needn't waste any time being sorry for me. I didn't have to come; nobody asked me. You'll not be in the least embarrassed by my coming. I don't look as though I were in deep distress about anything, do I? Well, I'm not. So don't prepare to weep over me. Tears are bad for the complexion and puckering up your face makes wrinkles."

Fosdick snickered, an act of treachery on his part which brought his wife to Mrs. Waterman's support. Fanny Fosdick was readier of speech than Josephine, who was inclined to pomposity when she tried to be impressive.

"You can't dodge the situation in any such way; you had no right to come back. Your coming can only bring up the old scandal, that we have been trying to live down. It's not a thing you can laugh off. A woman can't do what you did in a town like this and come back expecting everybody to smile over it."

"And Jack Holton has just been here; that was bad enough!" threw in Mrs. Hastings. "And if you are still running after him—"

"Girls!" exploded Amzi, "you'd better cut all this out. You're not going to help matters by fussing over what Lois did. I'm sure we're all glad to have her back; I'm sure we've always hoped she would come back."

"I think the least you say about it the better, Amzi," said Mrs. Waterman witheringly. "It's your fault that she's here. And if you had honored us with your confidence and taken our advice—"

"Thunder! what would you have done about it! I didn't think it was any of your business."

This from the potential benefactor of their children was not reassuring. The financial considerations crystallized by the return of the wanderer were not negligible. Every one in Montgomery knew that Jack Holton had come back to wrest money from William, and it was inconceivable that Lois had not flung herself upon Amzi for shelter and support. And as they had long assumed that she was a pensioner upon her brother's bounty, they were now convinced by the smartness of her gown and her general "air" as of one given to self-indulgence in the world's bazaars, that she had become a serious drain upon Amzi's resources.

"I think," declared Mrs. Waterman, "that it is a good deal our business. We can't make the world over to suit ourselves, and we can't fly in the face of decency without getting scratched. And when a woman brought up as Lois was does what she did, and runs through with her money, and comes home—"

She gulped in her effort to express the enormity of her sister's transgressions; whereupon Mrs. Fosdick caught the ball and flung back:—

"Of course, if Lois is in need of help, we all stand ready to help her. She must understand that we feel strongly the ties of blood, and I want to say that I'm willing to do my share, in the very fullest sense."

Lois rose impatiently.

"Don't be a lot of geese, you girls! Of course, you're all cut up at seeing me so unexpectedly, but I'm not going to let you be foolish about it. It's all in a lifetime anyway: and I really wish you wouldn't say things which to-morrow or the day after you'll be sorry for. I understand as perfectly as though you ran on all night just how you feel; you're horrified, ashamed, outraged—all those things. Bless me, you wouldn't be respectable women if you were not! If you fell on my neck and kissed me I should resent it. Really I should! You would be a disgrace to civilization if my showing up here on Christmas morning didn't give you nausea. I've been divorced twice, and anybody with any sort of nice feeling about life would make a rumpus about it. I'm rather annoyed about it myself; so that's all perfectly regular. You have said just what you ought to have said and you feel just as you should feel. Now that's understood, why not talk of something else and be comfortable?"

The three men had discreetly betaken themselves across the hall and the children of Amzi II were alone.

"You forget, Lois, that there are other persons besides ourselves to consider. If it were just Amzi and us—" persisted Mrs. Waterman, shifting her ground before this shameless confession.

"There's the whole world, when you come to that," said Lois. "What's in your mind, Jo,—Tom and Phil? Well, there's nothing novel in that; I thought about them a good deal before I came back. You may scratch Tom off the list; he's clear out of it. But as for Phil—"

"As for Phil, you have no right—"

"I haven't the slightest claim on Phil, of course; I never said I had, and I don't pretend to have. Please don't assume, Fanny, that I've lost all the wits I ever had! I'll say to you frankly that I feel that my coming may be troublesome to Phil; and yet the fact that I am here" (she smiled and threw out her arms, allowing them to fall to emphasize the futility of words)—"the fact that I am here shows that I have considered that and decided to take the risk of coming, in spite of Phil."

"Lois, you don't seem to have the slightest comprehension of the case—not the slightest," urged Mrs. Waterman, resenting the smile with which her sister had ended. "You brutally abandoned Phil; and now you come back to spoil her life. I didn't suppose there was a woman in the world so callous, so utterly without shame, so blindly selfish—"

Amzi paused in his stride across the room and planted himself belligerently before his oldest sister. His eyes bulged angrily.

"Josie, you can't talk like that to Lois; not in this house! I tell you, Lois is all right. If you don't like her, you can let her alone. I'm not going to have you talk to her like this—not here. Now I want you to understand, you, Josie; you, Kate; you, Fanny" (he indicated each in turn with his pudgy forefinger) "I wouldn't let her badger you, and I'm not going to let you jump on her."

"You talk like a fool, Amzi," said Mrs. Waterman, angry tears flashing in her eyes. "If you realized what we have always stood for in this community, and what it means to you as well as the rest of us; and poor little Phil, and all—"

"What have you all got to do with Phil? Phil's all right," he shouted hoarsely.

"I think," shot Mrs. Hastings, "that the easiest thing for Lois, and the best thing, is for her to go quietly without seeing Phil."

"That's my own opinion," affirmed Mrs. Fosdick.

Lois listened with her detached air, as though the subject under discussion related to some one she knew slightly but was not particularly interested in.

"Bless me! Such a wow and a wumpus. You really think I'd better go?" she asked casually.

The three, accepting this as a sign of yielding, chorused an eager, sibilant Yes.

"Think of Phil, just at the threshold of her life. We've done our best for poor dear Phil," said Mrs. Fosdick chokingly. "Amzi can't deny that we've tried to do our duty by her."

"Of course, you have all been nice to her," remarked Lois, picking up a box of candy and shaking it to bring to the surface some particular sweetmeat.

"It has not been so easy to bring Phil up!" declared Mrs. Waterman, enraged that Phil's mother should take their assumption of responsibility for the child's upbringing so lightly, so entirely as a matter of course.

"You ought to know, without our telling you, Lois," said Mrs. Hastings, "that your coming back will be the worst thing possible for dear Phil. If you think about it quietly for an hour or two, I'm sure you will see that."

"You ought to go down on your knees to God with it!" boomed Mrs. Waterman, "before you think of contaminating her young life. It's only right that we should talk to our pastor before coming to a decision."

Amzi snorted and walked to the window. There he saw as he looked out upon the lawn something that interested him; that caused a grin to fasten itself upon his rubicund countenance. Phil, under a fire of snowballs from a group of boys who were waiting with their Christmas sleds for a chance to hitch to a passing vehicle, gained Amzi's gate, ducked behind the fence to gather ammunition, rose and delivered her fire, and then retreated toward the house. Her aunts, still stubbornly confronting her mother, and sobbingly demanding that Phil be kept away pending a recourse to spiritual counsel, started at the sound of an unmistakable voice. Amzi, chewing his cigar, watched Phil's flight up the path, and noted the harmless fall of the final shots about her. She waved her hand from the doorstep, commented derisively upon the enemy's marksmanship, and flung the door open with a bang. A gust of cold air seemed to precipitate Phil into the room.

"Hello, Amy! Merry Christmas, everybody!"

Amzi walked toward Lois. "Phil, this is your mother." Mrs. Hastings glided from her post by the hearth until she stood between Phil and Lois, who stood with her back to the center table, the tips of her fingers resting upon it. Her face betrayed no apprehensions. For the moment she was out of the scene and the contest lay between Phil and her aunts.

"Phil, this is not the place for you! Go into the other room at once," said Mrs. Hastings, swallowing a sob.

Amzi struck a match and lighted a cigar with his habitual three puffs. Across the flame he saw Phil sweeping the group with her eyes. She stood erect, her hands in her muff to which particles of snow clung where it had fallen in her encounter with the boys at the gate. The crisp air had brightened her cheeks. She wore that look of unconcern for which she had been distinguished as a child. She moved her head slightly, to avoid the figure of the intercepting aunt, and met for an instant her mother's indifferent, unappealing gaze. Her intuitions grasped the situation and weighed its nice points. Phil had rarely in her life been surprised and she showed no surprise now.

"It's rather cold, isn't it, Phil?" Lois remarked."Chilly in here—rather!" said Phil in the same key.

"Phil!" thundered the aunts.

"Christmas is nicer with snow. I hate green Christmases," observed Lois, who had not changed her position.

"I've never seen but two," replied Phil, as readily as though the dialogue had been rehearsed; "and I hated them." Then, drawing her hand from her muff, she flung it out in a burlesque of the amateur recitationist:—

"O pray, upon my Christmas morn,
Let snow the leaf-shorn boughs adorn.

"How is that, Amy! A little worse than my worst?" She stepped round her Aunt Kate, shook hands with her mother, then upon second thought dropped her muff, seized both her hands, and kissed her.

"Were you all really just about going? I'm late! Made nine stops on the way, took a brief sleigh-ride with Captain Wilson, ate too much butter-scotch at the Bartletts', and here we are!"

She pushed a chair toward the hearth so violently that the castors screeched and her Aunt Kate jumped to avoid being run over.

"Why not sit down, mamma? Amy, where's my present? Here's me to you."

She picked up her muff, drew out a parcel tied with red ribbon, with a bit of mistletoe tucked under the bow-knot, and tossed it to Amzi.

"It's perfectly bully that you're back," she said, addressing herself again to her mother. "Actually here all right,—a real Christmas surprise. I'll take that up with Amy later; he's no business playing such a trick. But it must tickle you to see how dee-lighted everybody is! Oh, are you off, Aunt Josie? Hello, Lawrince!" She turned to wave her hand to Hastings at the door, where Waterman, Fosdick, and he had witnessed their wives' discomfiture. Those ladies were now attempting to impart to their exits the majesty of righteous indignation.Phil kicked an old carpeted footstool to the hearth, and dropped upon it at her mother's feet.

"What an old fraud Amy is not to have told me!"

She waited for the ultimate sounds of departure, and kissed her fingers to the closed door.

Then she raised her arms quickly and drew down her mother's head until their cheeks touched.

"Thunder!" said Amzi, and left them together.