The Rosemont schools closed for the holidays at noon of the Wednesday before Christmas, so all the Mortons and Dorothy were free to avail themselves of Mrs. Emerson's offer of her car to bring Katharine from Hoboken. It was a pleasant custom of the family to regard any guests as belonging not to one or another member in particular but to all of them. All felt a responsibility for the guest's happiness and all shared in any amusement that he or she might give.

According to this custom, not the Ethels alone went to meet Katharine, but Helen and Roger and Dorothy, too. Mrs. Morton chaperoned them and Dicky was added for good measure. It was a sharp day and the Rosemont group were rosy with cold when they reached the station and lined themselves up on the platform just before the Buffalo train drew in. Katharine and the Jacksons' German maid, Gretchen, were among the first to get off.

"Gretchen is going to make a holiday visit, too," Katharine explained when she had greeted the Ethels, whom she knew, and had been introduced to the other members of the party.

Mrs. Morton and Roger instructed Gretchen how to reach Staten Island where her friends lived and then they got into the car and sped toward home.

Katharine did not seem so much at ease as she had done when she played hostess to the Ethels at Fort Edward. She was accustomed to meeting many people, but she was an only child and being plunged into a big family, all chattering at once, it seemed to her, caused her some embarrassment. In an effort not to show it she was not always happy in her remarks.

"Is this your car?" she asked.

"It's Grandmother Emerson's," replied Ethel Brown. "She lets us have it very often."

"I don't care for a touring car in cold weather. My grandmother has a limousine."

"We're glad to have a ride in any kind of car," responded Ethel Blue happily.

"Roger, get out that other rug for Katharine," directed Mrs. Morton, "she's chilly."

"Oh, no," demurred Katharine, now ashamed at having made a remark that seemed to reflect upon the comfort of her friends' automobile. "I'm used to a Ford, any way."

"I'm afraid you don't know much about cars if you do come from an automobile city," commented Roger dryly. "This car would make about three Fords—though I don't sneeze at a Ford myself. I'd be mighty glad if we had one, wouldn't you, Mother?"

Mrs. Morton shook her head at him, and he subsided, humming merrily,

He took four spools and an old tin can
And called it a Ford and the strange thing ran.

The Ethels had not paid much attention to the conversation but nevertheless it had struck the wrong note and no one felt entirely at ease. They found themselves wondering whether their guest would find her room to her liking and they remembered uneasily that they had said "I guess she won't mind" this and that when they had left some of their belongings in the closet.

The Morton's house was not large and in order to accommodate a guest the Ethels moved upstairs into a tiny room in the attic, where they were to camp for the fortnight of Katharine's stay. They had thought it great fun, and were more than willing to endure the discomfort of crowded quarters for the sake of having the long-desired visit. Now, however, Ethel Brown murmured to Ethel Blue as they went into the house, "I'm glad we had one of the beds taken upstairs; it will give her more space," and Ethel Blue replied, "I believe we can hang our dancing school dresses in the east corner of the attic if we put a sheet around them."

Indeed, Ethel Blue made a point of running upstairs while Katharine was speaking to Dorothy in the living room and removing the dresses from the closet. She looked around the room with new sight. It had seemed pleasant and bright to her in the morning when she and Ethel Brown had added some last touches to the fresh muslin equipment of the bureau, but now she wished that they had had a perfectly new bureau cover, and she was sorry she had not asked Mary to give the window another cleaning although it had been washed only a few days before.

"Perhaps she won't notice," she murmured hopefully, but in her heart of hearts she was pretty sure she would.

Katharine made no comment, however, beyond lifted eyebrows when she noticed anything different from what she had been accustomed to in a house where there was a small family, and, in consequence, plenty of space. She unpacked her trunk and hung up her clothes with care and neatness which the Ethels admired. Ordinarily they would have praised her frankly for doing well what they sometimes failed to do well, but they had not yet recovered from the constraint that her remarks on the way home had thrown over them. It was not lessened when she mentioned that usually Gretchen did her unpacking for her.

"Mary would love to unpack for us," said Ethel Brown, "but if she did that we'd have to do some of her work, so we'd rather hang up our duds ourselves."

Katharine was greatly interested in the Club plans for the Glen Point orphans. She had lived in garrisons in the remote West and in or near large cities, but her experience never had placed her in a comparatively small town like Rosemont or Glen Point where people took a friendly interest in each other and in community institutions. She entered heartily into the final preparations for the imitation Christmas Ship and she and the girls forgot their mutual embarrassment in their work for some one else.

Roger went to Glen Point in the morning of the day before Christmas to meet the other Club boys and build the Ship in the hall of the orphanage. They worked there for several hours and lunched with James and Margaret at the Hancocks'. The rest of the Mortons and Katharine took over the parcels in the early afternoon in the car and arranged them on the deck as had been planned, and then all the young people came back together, for they were to have a part in the lighting of the Rosemont Christmas Tree.

The tree was a huge Norway spruce and it was set up in front of the high school which had a lawn before it large enough to hold a goodly crowd of observers. The choirs of all the churches had volunteered their services for the occasion. They were placed on a stand elevated above the crowd so that they could lead the singing and be heard at a distance.

Except for murmurs of admiration and a long-drawn breath of delight there was no sound from the throng. It was too beautiful for speech; the meaning was too laden with brotherly love and cheer for it to be mistaken. A sad-eyed girl smiled to herself and gazed with new hope in her face; a pickpocket took his hand out of his neighbor's bag that had opened like magic under his practised touch. Babies stretched out their arms to the glitter; grown men stared silently with unaccustomed tears wetting their eyes. The school children sang on and on, "Oh, come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant;" then "Hark, the herald angels sing, Glory to the new-born King;" and "It came upon the midnight clear." The fresh young voices rang gloriously, strengthened by the more mature voices of the choirs.

The stars were coming out before the first person turned away, and all through the night watchers of the tree's resplendent glory were found by the patrolling policeman gazing, gazing, with thoughts of peace reflected on faces that had long been unknown to peace.

It was after six when the Emerson car whirled the U. S. C. back to the Mortons' for a dinner that had to be eaten hastily, for they were due at the Glen Point orphanage soon after seven so that all might be in order for the doors to be opened to the children at half past. Helen was always urging punctuality as Tom was commanding promptness.

"If we were small youngsters and had had to wait all day for our Christmas party we'd be wild at having it delayed a minute longer than necessary," the President insisted, and Tom added his usual exhortation, "Run the thing along briskly; don't let it drag. You can 'put over' lots of stupid stuff by rushing it on gayly, and a good 'stunt' may be good for nothing if it goes slowly."

"Helen and Tom can't say that they 'never sing the old, old songs,' can they?" laughed Ethel Brown. "The Club has never done anything yet that we haven't heard these same sweet strains from both of them."

"You're very likely to hear them again—my chant, any way," declared her sister firmly.

"It won't do us any harm," Ethel Brown yielded good-naturedly.

The boys had made the good ship Jason with some ingenuity. The matron had let them have a table, long and so old that the marks of boots upon it would do no harm. This was important for it was to be used as the forward deck. Because in the days of its youth it had been used in the dining room of the smaller children it was lower than an ordinary table. This made it just the right height, for the ship's rail was to rise above it, and if it had been higher the people on the floor could not have seen the deck comfortably.

At the end of the table was tied the mast—a broom stick with electric light wires strung with tiny bulbs going from its top to the deck. This electrical display was a contribution from Roger who had asked his grandfather to give it to him for his Christmas gift and had requested that he might have it in time for him to lend it to the Jason. It was run by a storage battery hidden in a box that was safely bestowed under the deck. Aft of the mainmast were two kitchen chairs placed side by side to give the craft the needed length.

The outside of the boat was made by stretching a double length of war-gray cambric from the bow—two hammock stretchers fastened to the end of the table—along the deck, past the chairs and across their end. The cloth was raised a trifle above the deck by laths nailed on to the edge of the table. The name, "Jason," in black letters, was pinned along the bow.

"It isn't a striking likeness of a boat," confessed Roger, "but any intelligent person would be able to guess what it was meant to be."

When the children and a few other people who had begged to be allowed to come entered the hall they found the ship lighted and with its deck piled high with wooden boxes and parcels of good size. The members of the U. S. C. were gathered beside the ship. When all had entered Helen, as president of the Club, mounted one of the chairs which represented the after part of the boat and told the story of the real ship Jason.

"Children from all over the United States sent Christmas gifts to the European children who otherwise would not have any because of the war. Tonight we are going to pretend that we are all sailing on the Jason to carry the gifts to Europe. We've all got to help—every one of us. First of all we want a captain. I think that boy over there near the door will be the captain, because he's the tallest boy I see here."

Embarrassed but pleased the tall boy came forward and Della fastened on his arm a band marked CAPTAIN. Following instructions he mounted the chair from which Helen descended. Two under officers were chosen in the same way, and the Ethels raised them to the ranks of first and second lieutenants by the simple method of fastening on suitable arm bands.

"Now we want some sailors," cried Roger, and he selected ten other boys, who were all rapidly adorned with SAILOR bands by the U. S. C. gifts. The ship was about as full as she could be now, with her officers standing, one on the deck and the others on the two chairs, and the sailors manning the rail. Everybody was beginning to enjoy the game by this time, and the faces that looked out over the gray cambric sides of the Jason were beaming with eagerness to find out what was coming next, while the children who had not yet been assigned to any task were equally curious to find out how they were to help.

"Now we're on the pier at the Bush Terminal at Brooklyn," explained Tom. "Look out there; don't get in the way of the ropes," and he pushed the crowd back from the imaginary ropes, and whistled a shrill call on his fingers.

"See, she's moving! She's starting!" cried Ethel Blue. "Wave your handkerchief! Wave it!" she directed the children near her, who fell into the spirit of the pretense and gave the Christmas Ship a noisy send-off.

"Now we'll all turn our backs while the ship is crossing the Atlantic," directed James.

It required only a minute for the boat to make the crossing, and when the onlookers turned about after this trip of unparalleled swiftness they were told that now they were not Americans any longer; they were English people at Devonport gathered to watch the arrival of the Jason and to help unload the presents sent to the children of England and Belgium.

"I want some longshoremen to help unload these boxes," said Helen, "and a set of sorters and a set of distributors. Who'll volunteer as longshoremen?"

There was a quick response, and this group exhausted all the boys. They were designated by arm bands each marked LONGSHOREMAN. Then she called for girls for the other two detachments and divided them into two sections, one marked SORTERS and the other DISTRIBUTORS.

Under Roger's direction a chair, turned over on its face, made a sloping gangplank down which the bundles could be slid.

"Have your lieutenants place their men around the deck and on each side of this plank," he instructed the captain. "Then order a few longshoremen to go aboard and hand the bundles from one to another and slide them down the plank to the men on the pier who will take them over to the sorters. You," he called to the girls, "you stay at that side of the room and open these large parcels when they are brought to you, and you read what it says on the packages and make two piles, one of those marked 'Boy' and the other of those marked 'Girl'. Then there are bundles marked with the children's names. Give them out. See that everybody has one package marked with his name and one package just marked 'Boy' or 'Girl'."

The Ethels had proposed this arrangement so that all the children should feel that the distribution of gifts had been made by chance. The parcels bearing the children's names were filled with candy and goodies and were all alike.

"Didn't I tell you they'd like foolishnesses!" she said to Helen in an undertone. "Look at those boys with jumping jacks. They love them!"

"See those youngsters with those silly twirling things Tom made," said Della. "He's right about the charm of those little flat objects. They'll twirl them by the hour I really believe."

All the gifts were of the simplest sort. There were the Danish twins that Ethel Blue had made for the real Ship—little worsted elves fastened together by a cord; and rubber balls covered with crocheting to make them softer; dolls, small and inexpensive, but each with an outfit of clothes that would take off; a stuffed kitten or two; several baskets, each with a roll of ribbon in it.

"They can fit them up for work baskets afterwards, if they want to," said Margaret, "but I'm not going to suggest sewing to these youngsters who have to do it every day of their lives whether they want to or not."

There were various kinds of candy in boxes covered with bright colored and flowered paper, for James had outdone himself in developing new pasting ideas. There were cookies, too, and tiny fruit cakes.

The faces of the Club members were as joyous as the faces of the children as they looked about them and saw evidences of the success of their plan. If they needed confirmation it was given them by the matron.

"I've never seen them so happy," she said. "I can't thank you enough for giving them this pleasure."

"It was lovely," approved Katharine. "I'm so glad you let me help."

It was still early when the merry party reached home, but Mrs. Morton bundled them off to bed promptly.

"You've all made a sacrifice to Dicky's Christmas habits," she explained. "He's been in bed for hours and he's preparing to get up long before dawn, so we all might as well go to bed ourselves or we'll be exhausted by this time tomorrow night."

"Hang your stocking on your outside door knob, Katharine," cried the Ethels. "We have Santa Claus trained to look there for it in this house."