Mrs. Morton's prophecy was fulfilled. It was still black night when Dicky roused from his bed and sent a "Merry Christmas" ringing through the house. There was no response to his first cry, but, undaunted, he uttered a second. To this there came a faint "Merry Christmas" from the top story where the Ethels were snuggled under the roof, and another from Helen's room beside his own. Katharine said nothing and not a word came from Roger, though there was a sound of heavy, regular breathing through his door.

"Let's put on our wrappers and go down stairs into Katharine's room," suggested Ethel Brown.

"It's lots too early. Let's wait a while," replied Ethel Blue, so they lay still for another hour in spite of increasing sounds of ecstasy from Dicky. After all they decided to follow the usual family custom and take their stockings into the living room before breakfast instead of going to Katharine's room. As they passed her door they knocked on it and begged her to hurry so that they could all begin the opening at once. She said that she was up and would soon join them, but it proved to be fully three quarters of an hour before she appeared.

All the Mortons except Dicky had waited for her before opening their bundles.

"We thought you would excuse Dicky for not waiting; it's rather hard on a small boy to have such tantalizing parcels right before him and not attack them," apologized Mrs. Morton.

Katharine looked somewhat embarrassed to find that she had been the cause of so long a delay but she offered no excuse.

"Let's all look at our stockings first," said Ethel Brown, and every hand dived in and brought out candy, nuts, raisins, an apple, an orange, dates and figs and candy animals.

There were gifts among the goodies, or instructions where to find them. Roger discovered a pocket book that had been his desire for a long time, and a card that advised him to look under the desk in the library and see what was waiting for him. He dashed off in a high state of curiosity and came back whooping, with a typewriter in his arms.

"Aren't Grandfather and Grandmother the best ever!" he exclaimed rapturously, and he paid no further attention to his other gifts or to those of the rest of the family while he hunted out a small table and arranged the machine for immediate action.

Helen's chief presents were a ring with a small pearl, from her grandmother and a set of Stevenson from her grandfather. The Ethels had each a tennis racquet and each a desk of a size suitable for their bedroom.

"They'll go one on each side of the window," exclaimed Ethel Brown, while Ethel Blue at once began to store away in hers the supply of stationery that came with it.

Katharine's gifts were quite as numerous as the Mortons', for her mother had forwarded to Mrs. Morton's care all those of suitable size that came to Buffalo for her. She opened one after another: books, hair ribbons, a pair of silk stockings for dancing school, a tiny silver watch on a long chain. Mr. and Mrs. Emerson had added to her store a racquet like the Ethels'.

More numerous than those of any of the others were Dicky's presents, and they were varied, indeed. A velocipede was his grandfather's offering and was received with shouts of delight. Blocks of a new sort occupied him when his mother stopped his travels on three wheels. A train of cars made its way under Katharine's feet and nearly threw her down, to her intense disgust, and a pair of roller skates brought Dicky himself in her way so often that she spoke to him more sharply than he had ever been spoken to in his life. He drew away and stared at her solemnly.

"You're a cross girl," he announced after a disconcerting pause, and Katharine flushed deeply at the accusation, realizing that it was not polite to rebuke your hostess's brother and regretting her hasty speech.

"Are you good for a long walk?" Roger asked Katharine after breakfast.

Katharine said she was.

"Then help me do up these things for Grandfather and Grandmother and we'll be off," and he threw down a handful of red paper and green ribbon and ran to get the shears.

Roger and Helen together had given Grandfather Emerson a whole desk set, Roger hammering the metal and Helen providing and making up the pad and roller blotter and ink bottle. It was a handsome set. The blotter was green and the Ethels had made a string basket out of which came the end of a ball of green twine, and a set of filing envelopes, neatly arranged in a portfolio of heavy green cardboard.

All of the family had helped make the Chautauqua scrapbook that was Mrs. Emerson's principal gift from her grandchildren. Helen had written the story of their summer at Chautauqua, Roger had typed it on a typewriter at school, and the others had chosen and pasted the pictures that illustrated it. Ethel Blue had added an occasional drawing of her own when their kodaks gave out or they were unable to find anything in old magazines that would answer their purpose, and the effect was excellent. Katharine looked it over with the greatest interest.

"Here you are, all of you, going over from Westfield to Chautauqua in the trolley," she exclaimed, for she had made the same trip herself.

"And here are the chief officers of Chautauqua Institution—Bishop Vincent and some of the others."

"And here's the Spelling Match—my, that Amphitheatre is an enormous place!"

"This is the hydro-aeroplane that we flew in, Ethel Brown and I."

"These are different buildings on the grounds—I recognize them. This is a splendid present," complimented Katharine.

"It was heaps of fun making it. Did you notice this picture of Mother's and Grandfather's class on Recognition Day? See, there's Mother herself. She happened to be in the right spot when the photographer snapped."

"How lucky for you! It's perfect. I know Mrs. Emerson will be awfully pleased."

"We hope she will. Are you infants ready?" and Roger swung the parcels on to his back and opened the door for the girls.

"We're going to stop at Dorothy's, aren't we?" asked Ethel Blue.

"Certainly we are. We want to see her presents and to give Elisabeth hers and to say 'Merry Christmas' to Aunt Louise and Miss Merriam."

"You seem very fond of Miss Merriam," said Katharine to Ethel Brown as they turned the corner into Church Street.

"We are. She's splendid. She knows just what to do for Elisabeth and she's lovely any way."

"You act as if she belonged to the family."

"Why shouldn't we?" asked Ethel in amazement.

"Don't you pay her for taking care of the baby?"

"Certainly we pay her. We'd pay a doctor for taking care of her, too, only we happen to have two doctors related to the Club so they give us their services free. Why shouldn't we pay her?"

Ethel Brown was quite breathless. She could not entirely understand Katharine's point of view, but she seemed to be hinting that Miss Merriam was serving in a menial capacity. The idea made loyal Ethel Brown, who had not a snobbish bone in her body, extremely angry. Service she understood—her father and her uncle and Katharine's father, too, for that matter, were serving their country and were under orders. One kind of service might be less responsible than another kind, but that any service that was honest and useful could be unworthy was not in her creed.

"No reason, of course," replied Katharine, who saw that she had offended Ethel. "Any way, her work is more than a nursemaid's work."

"I should say it was," answered Ethel warmly; "she's taken several years' training to fit her for it. But even if she were just a nursemaid I should love her. I love Mary. She was Dicky's nurse and Mother says she saved him from becoming a sick, nervous child by her wisdom and calmness. Mary's skilful, too."

Katharine did not pursue the discussion, and Ethel Brown, when Miss Merriam came into the room to wish them a "Merry Christmas," threw her arms around her neck and kissed her.

"You're a perfectly splendid person," she exclaimed.

Elisabeth was at her very best this morning. Never before had they seen her so beaming. She had a special smile for every one of them, so that each felt that he had been singled out for favors. She shook hands with Roger, walked a few steps, clinging to the Ethels' fingers, patted Helen's cheek, rippled all over when Dicky danced before her, and even permitted Katharine to take her on her lap. This was a concession on Katharine's part as well as on Elisabeth's, for Katharine was not much interested in a stray baby. She saw, however, that the Mortons all were in love with the little creature so she did her best to be amiable toward her.

"You're all so good to me," she cried. "I love all these things that you've made for me with your own fingers."

"We'd do more than that if we could," answered Ethel Blue as they all, including Dorothy, swept out of the front door to take up their journey to the Emersons'.

At the Emersons' there was a renewal of greetings and "Thank yous" and laughter, and a rehearsing of all the gifts that had been received. Mrs. Smith had sent Mrs. Emerson an unusual pair of richly decorated wax candles which she had found at an Italian candlemaker's in New York, and Miss Merriam had sent her and Mrs. Morton each a tiny brass censer and a supply of charcoal and Japanese incense to make fragrant the house.

"Mother gave us handkerchiefs all around," said Roger, "and Mary baked us each a cake and the cook made candy enough for an army."

"You're dining at your Aunt Louise's, dear?"

"We're going right from here to carry some bundles for Mother and then to church, and then to Aunt Louise's for an early dinner. After dinner we are to call on the old ladies at the Home for a half hour and then we go back to a tree for Dicky—just a little shiny one; we've had all our presents. After supper the thing we're going to do is a secret."

"That sounds like a program that will keep you busy while it lasts. They're not tiring you out, I hope?" Mr. Emerson asked Katharine, who listened to Roger's list without displaying much enthusiasm.

"I'm enjoying it all very much," responded Katharine politely, but not in a tone that carried conviction.

"How would it please you if the car took you back and helped you carry those parcels for your mother?"

There was a general whoop of satisfaction.

"Your grandmother and I are going to church, but we won't mind starting earlier than we usually do."

"Which means right now, I should say," said Roger, looking at his watch.

At the Mortons' the car added Mrs. Morton and Dicky to its occupants and several large baskets containing Christmas dinners for people in whom the Mortons had an interest. The young Mortons all had had a hand in packing these baskets and in adding a touch of holly and red ribbon at the top to give them a holiday appearance.

"This first one is for old Mrs. Jameson," Mrs. Morton explained to her mother. "Everything in it is already cooked because she is almost blind and cooking is harder for her than it is for most people. There is a roast chicken and the vegetables are all done and put in covered bowls packed around with excelsior so that their heat won't be lost."

"Like a fireless cooker."

"The Ethels and Dorothy made enough individual fruit cakes for all our baskets, and we've put in hard pudding sauce so that they can be eaten as puddings instead of cakes."

"The girls have made candies and cookies for everybody. That basket for the Flynns has enough cookies for eight children besides the father and mother."

"If their appetites are like Roger's there must be a good many dozen cookies stowed away there."

"You can see it's the largest of all," laughed Mrs. Morton.

Roger played Santa Claus at each house and his merry face and pleasant jokes brought smiles to faces that did not look happy when their owners opened their doors. The Flynns' was the last stop and everybody in the car laughed when all the Flynns who could walk, and that meant nine of them, fairly boiled out of the door to receive the visitor. Roger jumped the small fry and joked with the larger ones, and left them all in a high state of excitement.

It was a very merry party that gathered around the Smiths' table, the largest dinner party that Dorothy and her mother had given since they came to Rosemont to live after they had met their unknown Morton relatives at Chautauqua the summer before. To Mrs. Smith it gave the greatest happiness to see the children of her brothers sitting at her table and to know that her sister-in-law was her very dear friend as well as her relative by marriage.

After dinner they all snapped costume crackers and adorned themselves with the caps that they discovered inside them, and they set the new Victrola going and danced the butterfly dance that they had learned at Chautauqua and had given at their entertainment for the Christmas Ship. Dusk was coming on when the Ethels said that they must go to the Old Ladies' Home or they would have to run all the way. Grandfather Emerson offered to whirl all of them over in the car, and they were glad to accept the offer.

They stopped at home to get the boxes of candy which they had prepared. It was while they were running up stairs to gather them together that Katharine asked Ethel Blue if Mary might press a dress for her.

"I want to wear it this evening," she said.

Ethel Blue gasped. Mary had not yet come back from Mrs. Smith's where she had served dinner for the large party and was still occupied in clearing up after it. Supper at home was yet to come. Mrs. Morton had always urged upon the girls to be very careful about asking to have extra services rendered at inconvenient hours, and a more inconvenient time than this hardly could have been selected.

"Why, I don't know," Ethel Blue hesitated.

"Oh, if you don't care to have her—" replied Katharine stiffly.

"It isn't that," returned Ethel miserably. "Mary's always willing to do things for us, but you see she's had a hard day and it isn't over yet and she won't have any holiday at all if she has to do this."

"Very well," returned Katharine in a tone that made Ethel feel that her friend considered that she was being discourteous to her guest. "I can find something else to wear this evening, I suppose."

She looked so like a martyr that Ethel was most unhappy.

"If you'll let me try it, I can use the stove in our own little kitchen," she offered, referring to the small room where Mrs. Morton allowed the girls to cook so that they should not be in the way of the servants.

"No, indeed, I could not think of letting you," responded Katharine.

"I don't know that I could do it. I never have pressed anything nice—but I'd like to try if you'll trust me."

"No, indeed," repeated Katharine, and the girls entered the automobile each in a state of mental discomfort, Katharine because she felt that she was not being treated with proper consideration, and Ethel Blue because she had been obliged to refuse the request of a friend and guest. The ride to the Home was uncomfortably silent. On Roger's part the cause was turkey, but the girls were quiet for other reasons.

The visit to the old ladies was not long. They distributed their packages and wished everybody a "Merry Christmas" and shook hands with their especial favorites and ran back to the car.

The supper was not really a party meal. It merely served as a gathering place for the U. S. C. before they went to the Christmas tree at the church. It also served as a background for Dick's little shining tree. This small tree had been a part of Dick's Christmas ever since he had had a Christmas, and to him it was quite as important as his dinner, although there never were any presents on it.

It stood now on a small table at the side of the dining room. It was lighted by means of the storage battery and the strings of tiny electric lights that had been used for the Christmas Ship at the Glen Point orphanage. There were all sorts of balls and tinsel wreaths and tiny, glistening cords. It glowed merrily while the supper went on, Dicky, at intervals of five minutes, calling everybody's attention to its beauties. There were favors at each plate, each a joke of some sort on the person who received it. Every one held up his toy for the rest to see and each provoked a peal of laughter.