Peace on Earth, Good-Will to Dogs

 By

 Eleanor Hallowell Abbott

 Author of "Old Dad"

 New York

 E. P. Dutton & Company

 681 Fifth Avenue

 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

 _First printing October, 1920_

 _Second printing October, 1920_

 _Third printing October, 1920_

 * * * * *

CONTENTS

Part I

Part II

 * * * * *

PEACE ON EARTH GOOD WILL TO DOGS

PART I

If you don't like Christmas stories, don't read this one!

And if you don't like dogs I don't know just what to advise you to do!

For I warn you perfectly frankly that I am distinctly pro-dog anddistinctly pro-Christmas, and would like to bring to this little storywhatever whiff of fir-balsam I can cajole from the make-believe forestin my typewriter, and every glitter of tinsel, smudge of toy candle, crackle of wrapping paper, that my particular brand of brain and inkcan conjure up on a single keyboard! And very large-sized dogs shallromp through every page! And the mercury shiver perpetually in thevicinity of zero! And every foot of earth be crusty-brown and barewith no white snow at all till the very last moment when you'd justabout given up hope! And all the heart of the story is very, --oh_very_ young!

For purposes of propriety and general historical authenticity thereare of course parents in the story. And one or two other oldishpersons. But they all go away just as early in the narrative as I canmanage it. --Are obliged to go away!

Yet lest you find in this general combination of circumstances somesinister threat of audacity, let me conventionalize the story at onceby opening it at that most conventional of all conventionalChristmas-story hours, --the Twilight of Christmas Eve. 

Nuff said?--Christmas Eve, you remember? Twilight? Awfully coldweather? And somebody very young?

Now for the story itself!

After five blustering, wintry weeks of village speculation and gossipthere was of course considerable satisfaction in being the first tosolve the mysterious holiday tenancy of the Rattle-Pane House. 

Breathless with excitement Flame Nourice telephoned the news from thevillage post-office. From a pedestal of boxes fairly bulging withred-wheeled go-carts, one keen young elbow rammed for balance into agay glassy shelf of stick-candy, green tissue garlands ticklingacross her cheek, she sped the message to her mother. 

"O Mother-Funny!" triumphed Flame. "I've found out who's Christmasingat the Rattle-Pane House!--It's a red-haired setter dog with one blackear! And he's sitting at the front gate this moment! Superintendingthe unpacking of the furniture van! And I've named him Lopsy!"

"Why, Flame; how--absurd!" gasped her mother. In consideration of thefact that Flame's mother had run all the way from the icy-footedchicken yard to answer the telephone it shows distinctly what stuffshe was made of that she gasped nothing else. 

And that Flame herself re-telephoned within the half hour toacknowledge her absurdity shows equally distinctly what stuff _she_was made of! It was from the summit of a crate of holly-wreaths thatshe telephoned this time. 

"Oh Mother-Funny, " apologized Flame, "you were perfectly right. No lonedog in the world could possibly manage a great spooky place like theRattle-Pane House. There are two other dogs with him! A great long, narrowsofa-shaped dog upholstered in lemon and white, --something terriblyferocious like 'Russian Wolf Hound' I think he is! But I've named himBeautiful-Lovely! And there's the neatest looking paper-white coach dogjust perfectly ruined with ink-spots! Blunder-Blot, I think, will make agood name for him! And--"

"Oh--Fl--ame!" panted her Mother. "Dogs--do--not--take houses!" Itwas not from the chicken-yard that she had come running this time butonly from her Husband's Sermon-Writing-Room in the attic. 

"Oh don't they though?" gloated Flame. "Well, they've taken this one, anyway! Taken it by storm, I mean! Scratched all the green paint offthe front door! Torn a hole big as a cavern in the Barberry Hedge!Pushed the sun-dial through a bulkhead!--If it snows to-night thecellar'll be a Glacier! And--"

"Dogs--do--not--take--houses, " persisted Flame's mother. She was stillpersisting it indeed when she returned to her husband's study. 

Her husband, it seemed, had not noticed her absence. Still poring overthe tomes and commentaries incidental to the preparation of his nextSunday's sermon his fine face glowed half frown, half ecstasy, in theDecember twilight, while close at his elbow all unnoticed a smokingkerosine lamp went smudging its acrid path to the ceiling. Dusky lockfor dusky lock, dreamy eye for dreamy eye, smoking lamp for smokinglamp, it might have been a short-haired replica of Flame herself. 

"Oh if Flame had only been 'set' like the maternal side of the house!"reasoned Flame's Mother. "Or merely dreamy like her Father! Her Fatherbeing only dreamy could sometimes be diverted from his dreams! But tobe 'set' and 'dreamy' both? Absolutely 'set' on being absolutely'dreamy'? That was Flame!" With renewed tenacity Flame's Motherreverted to Truth as Truth. "Dogs do _not_ take houses!" she affirmedwith unmistakable emphasis. 

"Eh? What?" jumped her husband. "Dogs? Dogs? Who said anything aboutdogs?" With a fretted pucker between his brows he bent to his workagain. "You interrupted me, " he reproached her. "My sermon is aboutHell-Fire. --I had all but smelled it. --It was very disagreeable. " Witha gesture of impatience he snatched up his notes and tore them in two. "I think I will write about the Garden of Eden instead!" he rallied. "The Garden of Eden in Iris time! Florentina Alba everywhere!Whiteness! Sweetness!--Now let me see, --orris root I believe isdeducted from the Florentina Alba--. "

"U--m--m--m, " sniffed Flame's Mother. With an impulse purely practicalshe started for the kitchen. "The season happens to be Christmastime, " she suggested bluntly. "Now if you could see your way to make asermon that smelt like doughnuts and plum-pudding--"

"Doughnuts?" queried her Husband and hurried after her. Supplementingthe far, remote Glory-of-God expression in his face, theglory-of-doughnuts shone suddenly very warmly. 

Flame at least did not have to be reminded about the Seasons. 

"Oh _mother_!" telephoned Flame almost at once, "It's--so much nearerChristmas than it was half an hour ago! Are you sure everything willkeep? All those big packages that came yesterday? That humpy oneespecially? Don't you think you ought to peep? Or poke? Just theteeniest, tiniest little peep or poke? It would be a shame ifanything spoiled! A--turkey--or a--or a fur coat--or anything. "

"I am--making doughnuts, " confided her Mother with the faintestpossible taint of asperity. 

"O--h, " conceded Flame. "And Father's watching them? Then I'll hurry!M--Mother?" deprecated the excited young voice. "You are always sohorridly right! Lopsy and Beautiful-Lovely and Blunder-Blot are _not_Christmasing all alone in the Rattle-Pane House! There is a man withthem! Don't tell Father, --he's so nervous about men!"

"A--man?" stammered her Mother. "Oh I hope not a young man! Where didhe come from?"

"Oh I don't think he came at all, " confided Flame. It was Flame whowas perplexed this time. "He looks to me more like a person who hadalways been there! Like something I mean that the dogs found in theattic! Quite crumpled he is! And with a red waistcoat!--A--A butlerperhaps?--A--A sort of a second hand butler? Oh Mother!--I wish we hada butler!"

"Flame--?" interrupted her Mother quite abruptly. "Where are you doingall this telephoning from? I only gave you eighteen cents and it wasto buy cereal with. "

"Cereal?" considered Flame. "Oh that's all right, " she glowedsuddenly. "I've paid cash for the telephoning and charged the cereal. "

With a swallow faintly guttural Flame's Mother hung up the receiver. "Dogs--do--not--have--butlers, " she persisted unshakenly. 

She was perfectly right. They did not, it seemed. 

No one was quicker than Flame to acknowledge a mistake. Before fiveo'clock Flame had added a telephone item to the cereal bill. 

"Oh--Mother, " questioned Flame. "The little red sweater and Tam that Ihave on?--Would they be all right, do you think, for me to make a call in?Not a formal call, of course, --just a--a neighborly greeting at the door?It being Christmas Eve and everything!--And as long as I have to passright by the house anyway?--There is a lady at the Rattle-Pane House!A--A--what Father would call a Lady Maiden!--Miss--"

"Oh not a real lady, I think, " protested her Mother. "Not with allthose dogs. No real lady I think would have so many dogs. --It--Itisn't sanitary. "

"Isn't--sanitary?" cried Flame. "Why Mother, they are the mostabsolutely--perfectly sanitary dogs you ever saw in your life!" Intoher eager young voice an expression of ineffable dignity shotsuddenly. "Well--really, Mother, " she said, "In whatever concerns menor crocheting--I'm perfectly willing to take Father's advice or yours. But after all, I'm eighteen, " stiffened the young voice. "And when itcomes to dogs--I must use my own judgment!"

"And just what is the lady's name?" questioned her Mother a bitweakly. 

"Her name is 'Miss Flora'!" brightened Flame. "The Butler has justgone to the Station to meet her! I heard him telephoning quitefrenziedly! I think she must have missed her train or something! Itseemed to make everybody very nervous! Maybe _she's_ nervous! Maybeshe's a nervous invalid! With a lost Lover somewhere! And all sorts ofpressed flowers!--Somebody ought to call anyway! Call right away, Imean, before she gets any more nervous!--So many people's firstimpressions of a place--I've heard--are spoiled for lack of someperfectly silly little thing like a nutmeg grater or a hot waterbottle! And oh, Mother, it's been so long since any one lived in theRattle-Pane House! Not for years and years and years! Not dogs, anyway! Not a lemon and white wolf hound! Not setters! Not spottydogs!--Oh Mother, just one little wee single minute at the door? Justlong enough to say 'The Rev. And Mrs. Flamande Nourice, and MissNourice, present their compliments!'--And are you by any chance shorta marrow-bone? Or would you possibly care to borrow an extra quilt torug-up under the kitchen table?. . . Blunder-Blot doesn't look verythick. Or--Oh Mother, _p-l-e-a-s-e!_"

When Flame said "Please" like that the word was no more, no less, thanthe fabled bundle of rags or haunch of venison hurled back from awolf-pursued sleigh to divert the pursuer even temporarily from themain issue. While Flame's Mother paused to consider the particularlyflavorous sweetness of that entreaty, --to picture the flashing eye, the pulsing throat, the absurdly crinkled nostril that invariablyaccompanied all Flame's entreaties, Flame herself was escaping!

Taken all in all, escaping was one of the best things that Flamedid. . . . As well as the most becoming! Whipped into scarlet by thesudden plunge from a stove-heated store into the frosty night heryoung cheeks fairly blazed their bright reaction. Frost and speedquickened her breath. Glint for glint her shining eyes challenged themoon. Fearful even yet that some tardy admonition might overtake hershe sped like a deer through the darkness. 

It was a dull-smelling night. Pretty, but very dull-smelling. Disdainfully her nostrils crinkled their disappointment. 

"Christmas Time adventures ought to smell like Christmas!" shescolded. "Maybe if I'm ever President, " she argued, "I won't do soawfully well with the Tariff or things like that! But Christmas shallsmell of Christmas! Not just of frozen mud! And camphor balls!. . . I'llhave great vats of Fir Balsam essence at every street corner! Andgigantic atomizers! And every passerby shall be sprayed! And stores!And churches! And--And everybody who doesn't like Christmas shall be_dipped_!"

Under her feet the smoothish village road turned suddenly into theharsh and hobbly ruts of a country lane. With fluctuant blacknessagainst immutable blackness great sweeping pine trees swished weirdlyinto the horizon. Where the hobbly lane curved darkly into a meadowthrough a snarl of winter-stricken willows the rattle of a loosewindow-pane smote quite distinctly on the ear. It was a horrid, deserted sound. And with the instinctive habit of years Flame's littlehand clutched at her heart. Then quite abruptly she laughed aloud. 

"Oh you can't scare me any more, you gloomy old Rattle-Pane House!"she laughed. "You're not deserted now! People are Christmasing in you!Whether you like it or not you're being Christmased!"

Very tentatively she puckered her lips to a whistle. Almost instantlyfrom the darkness ahead a dog's bark rang out, deep, sonorous, faintlysuspicious. With a little chuckle of joy she crawled through theBarberry hedge and emerged for a single instant only at her fullheight before three furry shapes came hurtling out of the darknessand toppled her over backwards. 

"Stop, Beautiful-Lovely!" she gasped. "Stop, Lopsy! Behave yourself, Blunder-Blot! _Sillies_! Don't you know I'm the lady that was talkingto you this morning through the picket fence? Don't you know I'm thelady that fed you the box of cereal?--Oh dear--Oh dear--Oh dear, " shestruggled. "I knew, of course, that there were three dogs--but whoever in the world would have guessed that three could be so many?"

As expeditiously as possible she picked herself up and bolted for thehouse with two furry shapes leaping largely on either side of her andone cold nose sniffing interrogatively at her heels. Her heart wasvery light, --her pulses jumping with excitement, --an occasional furryhead doming into the palm of her hand warmed the whole bleak nightwith its sense of mute companionship. But the back of her heels feltcertainly very queer. Even the warm yellow lights of the Rattle-PaneHouse did not altogether dispel her uneasiness. 

"Maybe I'd better not plan to make my call so--so very informal, " shedecided suddenly. "Not at a house where there are quite so many dogs!Not at a house where there is a butler . . . Anyway!"

Crowding and pushing and yelping and fawning around her, it was thedogs who announced her ultimate arrival. Like a drift of snow the hugewolf-hound whirled his white shagginess into the vestibule. Shrill asa banging blind the impetuous coach-dog lurched his sleek weightagainst the door. Sucking at a crack of light the red setter's kindlednose glowed and snorted with dragonlike ferocity. Without knock orring the door-handle creaked and turned, three ecstatic shapes wenthurtling through a yellow glare into the hall beyond, and Flame foundherself staring up into the blinking, astonished eyes of the crumpledold man with the red waistcoat. 

"G--Good evening, --Butler!" she rallied. 

"Good evening, Miss!" stammered the Butler. 

"I've--I've come to call, " confided Flame. 

"To--call?" stammered the Butler. 

"Yes, " conceded Flame. "I--I don't happen to have an engraved cardwith me. " Before the continued imperturbability of the old Butler allsubterfuge seemed suddenly quite useless. "I _never_ have had anengraved card, " she confided quite abruptly. "But you might tell MissFlora if you please--" . . . Would nothing crack the Butler'simperturbability?. . . Well maybe she could prove just a little bitimperturbable herself! "Oh! Butlers don't 'tell' people things, dothey?. . . They always 'announce' things, don't they?. . . Well, kindlyannounce to Miss Flora that the--the Minister's Daughter is--at thedoor!. . . Oh, _no_! It isn't asking for a subscription or anything!"she hastened quite suddenly to explain. "It's just a Christiancall!. . . B--Being so nervous and lost on the train and everything . . . We thought Miss Flora might be glad to know that there wereneighbors. . . . We live so near and everything. . . . And can run like thewind! Oh, not Mother, of course!. . . She's a bit stout! And Fatherstarts all right but usually gets thinking of something else! ButI. . . ? Kindly announce to Miss Flora, " she repeated with palpablecrispness, "that the Minister's Daughter is at the door!"

Fixedly old, fixedly crumpled, fixedly imperturbable, the Butlerstepped back a single jerky pace and bowed her towards the parlor. 

"Now, " thrilled Flame, "the adventure really begins. "

It certainly was a sad and romantic looking parlor, and strangelyfurnished, Flame thought, for even "moving times. " Through a maze ofbulging packing boxes and barrels she picked her way to a fadedrose-colored chair that flanked the fire-place. That the chair wasalready half occupied by a pile of ancient books and four dusty gardentrowels only served to intensify the general air of gloom. Presidingover all, two dreadful bouquets of long-dead grasses flared wanly onthe mantle-piece. And from the tattered old landscape paper on thewalls Civil War heroes stared regretfully down through pale andtarnished frames. 

"Dear me . . . Dear me, " shivered Flame. "They're not going to Christmasat all . . . Evidently! Not a sprig of holly anywhere! Not a ravel oftinsel! Not a jingle bell!. . . Oh she must have lost a lot of lovers, "thrilled Flame. "I can bring her flowers, anyway! My very first PaperWhite Narcissus! My--. "

With a scrape of the foot the Butler made known his return. 

"Miss Flora!" he announced. 

With a catch of her breath Flame jumped to her feet and turned togreet the biggest, ugliest, most brindled, most wizened Bull Dog shehad ever seen in her life. 

"_Miss Flora!_" repeated the old Butler succinctly. 

"Miss Flora?" gasped Flame. "Why. . . . Why, I thought Miss Flora was aLady! Why--"

"Miss Flora is indeed a very grand lady, Miss!" affirmed the Butlerwithout a flicker of expression. "Of a pedigree so famous . . . Sodistinguished . . . So . . . " Numerically on his fingers he began to countthe distinctions. "Five prizes this year! And three last! Do you mindthe chop?" he gloated. "The breadth! The depth!. . . Did you never hearof alauntes?" he demanded. "Them bull-baiting dogs that was inventedby the second Duke of York or thereabouts in the year 1406?"

"Oh my Glory!" thrilled Flame. "Is Miss Flora as old as _that_?"

"Miss Flora, " said the old Butler with some dignity, "is young--hardlytwo in fact--so young that she seems to me but just weaned. "

With her great eyes goggled to a particularly disconcerting sort ofscrutiny Miss Flora sprang suddenly forward to investigate thevisitor. 

As though by a preconcerted signal a chair crashed over in the halland the wolf hound and the setter and the coach dog came hurtling backin a furiously cordial onslaught. With wags and growls and yelps ofjoy all four dogs met in Flame's lap. 

"They seem to like me, don't they?" triumphed Flame. Intermittentlythrough the melee of flapping ears, --shoving shoulders, --waving paws, her beaming little face proved the absolute sincerity of that triumph. "Mother's never let me have any dogs, " she confided. "Mother thinksthey're not--Oh, of course, I realize that four dogs is a--a goodmany, " she hastened diplomatically to concede to a certain suddendroop around the old Butler's mouth corners. 

From his slow, stooping poke of the sulky fire the old Butler glancedup with a certain plaintive intentness. 

"All dogs is too many, " he affirmed. 

"Come Christmas time I wishes I was dead. "

"Wish you were dead . . . At Christmas Time?" cried Flame. Acute shockwas in her protest. 

"It's the feedin', " sighed the old Butler. "It ain't that I mindeatin' with them on All Saints' Day or Fourth of July or even Sundays. But come Christmas Time it seems like I craves to eat with MoreHumans. . . . I got a nephew less'n twenty miles away. He's got cider inhis cellar. And plum puddings. His woman she raises guinea chickens. And mince pies there is. And tasty gravies. --But me I mixes dog breadand milk--dog bread and milk--till I can't see nothing--think nothingbut mush. And him with cider in his cellar!. . . It ain't as though Mr. Delcote ever came himself to prove anything, " he argued. "Not he! NotChristmas Time! It's travelling he is. . . . He's had . . . Misfortunes, "he confided darkly. "He travels for 'em same as some folks travels fortheir healths. Most especially at Christmas Time he travels for hismisfortunes! He . . . "

"_Mr. Delcote_?" quickened Flame. "Mr. Delcote?" (Now at last was themysterious tenancy about to be divulged?)

"All he says, " persisted the old Butler. "All he says is 'NowBarret, '--that's me, 'Now Barret I trust your honor to see that thedogs ain't neglected just because it's Christmas. There ain't noreason, Barret', he says, 'why innocent dogs should suffer Christmasjust because everybody else does. They ain't done nothing. . . . It won'tdo now Barret', he says, 'for you to give 'em their dinner at dawnwhen they ain't accustomed to it, and a pail of water, and shut 'em upwhile you go off for the day with any barrel of cider. You know whatdogs is, Barret', he says. 'And what they isn't. They've got to be fedregular', he says, 'and with discipline. Else there's deaths. --Somenatural. Some unnatural. And some just plain spectacular fromfurniture falling on their arguments. So if there's any fatalitiescome this Christmas Time, Barret', he says, 'or any undue gains inweight or losses in weight, I shall infer, Barret', he says, 'that youwas absent without leave. ' . . . It don't look like a very wholesomeChristmas for me, " sighed the old Butler. "Not either way. Not whatyou'd call wholesome. "

"But this Mr. Delcote?" puzzled Flame. "What a perfectly horrid manhe must be to give such heavenly dogs nothing but dog-bread and milkfor their Christmas dinner!. . . Is he young? Is he old? Is he thin? Ishe fat? However in the world did he happen to come to a queer, battered old place like the Rattle-Pane House? But once come whydidn't he stay? And--And--And--?"

"Yes'm, " sighed the old Butler. 

In a ferment of curiosity, Flame edged jerkily forward, and subsidedas jerkily again. 

"Oh, if this only was a Parish Call, " she deprecated, "I could askquestions right out loud. 'How? Where? Why? When?' . . . But being justa social call--I suppose--I suppose. . . ?" Appealingly her eager eyessearched the old Butler's inscrutable face. 

"Yes'm, " repeated the old Butler dully. Through the quavering fingersthat he swept suddenly across his brow two very genuine tearsglistened. 

With characteristic precipitousness Flame jumped to her feet. 

"Oh, darn Mr. Delcote!" she cried. "I'll feed your dogs, ChristmasDay! It won't take a minute after my own dinner or before! I'll runlike the wind! No one need ever know!"

So it was that when Flame arrived at her own home fifteen minuteslater, and found her parents madly engaged in packing suit-cases, searching time-tables, and rushing generally to and fro from attic tocellar, no very mutual exchange of confidences ensued. 

"It's your Uncle Wally!" panted her Mother. 

"Another shock!" confided her Father. 

"Not such a bad one, either, " explained her Mother. "But of coursewe'll have to go! The very first thing in the morning! Christmas Day, too! And leave you all alone! It's a perfect shame! But I've plannedit all out for everybody! Father's Lay Reader, of course, will takethe Christmas service! We'll just have to omit the Christmas Treesurprise for the children!. . . It's lucky we didn't even unpack thetrimmings! Or tell a soul about it. " In a hectic effort to pack both athick coat and a thin coat and a thick dress and a thin dress andthick boots and thin boots in the same suit-case she began verypalpably to pant again. "Yes! Every detail is all planned out!" sheasserted with a breathy sort of pride. "You and your Father are bothso flighty I don't know whatever in the world you'd do if I didn'tplan out everything for you!"

With more manners than efficiency Flame and her Father dropped at onceevery helpful thing they were doing and sat down in rocking chairs tolisten to the plan. 

"Flame, of course, can't stay here all alone. Flame's Mother turnedand confided _sotto voce_ to her husband. Young men might call. TheLay Reader is almost sure to call. . . . He's a dear delightful soul ofcourse, but I'm afraid he has an amorous eye. "

"All Lay Readers have amorous eyes, " reflected her husband. "Taken allin all it is a great asset. "

"Don't be flippant!" admonished Flame's Mother. "There are reasons . . . Why I prefer that Flame's first offer of marriage should not be froma Lay Reader. "

"Why?" brightened Flame. 

"S--sh--, " cautioned her Father. 

"Very good reasons, " repeated her Mother. From the conglomeratepacking under her hand a puff of spilled tooth-powder whiffedfragrantly into the air. 

"Yes?" prodded her husband's blandly impatient voice. 

"Flame shall go to her Aunt Minna's" announced the dominant maternalvoice. "By driving with us to the station, she'll have only two hoursto wait for her train, and that will save one bus fare! Aunt Minna isa vegetarian and doesn't believe in sweets either, so that will bequite a unique and profitable experience for Flame to add to hergeneral culinary education! It's a wonderful house!. . . A bit dark ofcourse! But if the day should prove at all bright, --not so bright ofcourse that Aunt Minna wouldn't be willing to have the shades up, but--Oh and Flame, " she admonished still breathlessly, "I think you'dbetter be careful to wear one of your rather longish skirts! And oh dobe sure to wipe your feet every time you come in! And don't chatter!Whatever you do, don't chatter! Your Aunt Minna, you know, is just alittle bit peculiar! But such a worthy woman! So methodical! So. . . . "

To Flame's inner vision appeared quite suddenly the pale, inscrutableface of the old Butler who asked nothing, --answered nothing, --welcomednothing, --evaded nothing. 

". . . Yes'm, " said Flame. 

But it was a very frankly disconsolate little girl who stole late thatnight to her Father's study, and perched herself high on the arm ofhis chair with her cheek snuggled close to his. 

"Of Father-Funny, " whispered Flame, "I've got such a queer littlepain. "

"A pain?" jerked her Father. "Oh dear me! Where is it? Go and findyour Mother at once!"

"Mother?" frowned Flame. "Oh it isn't that kind of a pain. --It's in myChristmas. I've got such a sad little pain in my Christmas. "

"Oh dear me--dear me!" sighed her Father. Like two people mostprecipitously smitten with shyness they sat for a moment staringblankly around the room at every conceivable object except eachother. Then quite suddenly they looked back at each other and smiled. 

"Father, " said Flame. "You're not of course a very old man. . . . Butstill you are pretty old, aren't you? You've seen a whole lot ofChristmasses, I mean?"

"Yes, " conceded her Father. 

From the great clumsy rolling collar of her blanket wrapper Flame'slittle face loomed suddenly very pink and earnest. 

"But Father, " urged Flame. "Did you ever in your whole life spend aChristmas just exactly the way you wanted to? Honest-to-Santa Clausnow, --did you _ever_?"

"Why--Why, no, " admitted her Father after a second's hesitation. "Whyno, I don't believe I ever did. " Quite frankly between his brows therepuckered a very black frown. "Now take to-morrow, for instance, " hecomplained. "I had planned to go fishing through the ice. . . . After themorning service, of course, --after we'd had our Christmas dinner, --andgotten tired of our presents, --every intention in the world I had ofgoing fishing through the ice. . . . And now your Uncle Wally has to goand have a shock! I don't believe it was necessary. He should havetaken extra precautions. The least that delicate relatives can do isto take extra precautions at holiday time. . . . Oh, of course your UncleWally has books in his library, " he brightened, "very interesting oldbooks that wouldn't be perfectly seemly for a minister of the Gospelto have in his own library. . . . But still it's very disappointing, " hewilted again. 

"I agree with you . . . Utterly, Father-Funny!" said Flame. "But . . . Father, " she persisted, "Of all the people you know in theworld, --millions would it be?"

"No, call it thousands" corrected her Father. 

"Well, thousands, " accepted Flame. "Old people, young people, fatpeople, skinnys, cross people, jolly people?. . . Did you ever in yourlife know _any one_ who had ever spent Christmas just the way hewanted to?"

"Why . . . No, I don't know that I ever did, " considered her Father. With his elbows on the arms of his chair, his slender fingers forkedto a lovely Gothic arch above the bridge of his nose, he yieldedhimself instantly to the reflection. "Why . . . No, . . . I don't knowthat I ever did, " he repeated with an increasing air ofconviction. . . . "When you're young enough to enjoy the day as a'holler' day there's usually some blighting person who prefers to haveit observed as a holy day. . . . And by the time you reach an age whereyou really rather appreciate its being a holy day the chances are thatyou've got a houseful of racketty youngsters who fairly insist onreverting to the 'holler' day idea again. "

"U--m--m, " encouraged Flame. 

--"When you're little, of course, " mused her Father, "you have tospend the day the way your elders want you to!. . . You crave aChristmas Tree but they prefer stockings! You yearn to skate but theyconsider the weather better for corn-popping! You ask for a bicyclebut they had already found a very nice bargain in flannels! You beg todine the gay-kerchiefed Scissor-Grinder's child, but they invite theMinister's toothless mother-in-law!. . . And when you're old enough togo courting, " he sighed, "your lady-love's sentiments are outraged ifyou don't spend the day with her and your own family are perfectlyfurious if you don't spend the day with them!. . . And after you'remarried?" With a gesture of ultimate despair he sank back into hiscushions. "N--o, no one, I suppose, in the whole world, has ever spentChristmas just exactly the way he wanted to!"

"Well, I, " triumphed Flame, "have got a chance to spend Christmas justexactly the way I want to!. . . The one chance perhaps in a life-time, it would seem!. . . No heart aches involved, no hurt feelings, nodisappointments for anybody! Nobody left out! Nobody dragged in! WhyFather-Funny, " she cried. "It's an experience that might distinguishme all my life long! Even when I'm very old and crumpled people wouldpoint me out on the street and say '_There's_ some one who once spentChristmas just exactly the way she wanted to'!" To a limpness almostunbelievable the eager little figure wilted down within itsblanket-wrapper swathings. "And now . . . " deprecated Flame, "Mother hasgone and wished me on Aunt Minna instead!" With a sudden revival ofenthusiasm two small hands crept out of their big cuffs and clutchedher Father by the ears. "Oh Father-Funny!" pleaded Flame. "If you weretoo old to want it for a 'holler' day and not quite old enough toneed it for a holy day . . . So that all you asked in the world was justto have it a _holly_ day! Something all bright! Red and green! Andtinsel! and jingle-bells!. . . How would you like to have Aunt Minnawished on you?. . . It isn't you know as though Aunt Minna was a--apleasant person, " she argued with perfectly indisputable logic. "Youcouldn't wish one 'A Merry Aunt Minna' any more than you could wish'em a 'Merry Good Friday'!" From the clutch on his ears the smallhands crept to a point at the back of his neck where they encompassedhim suddenly in a crunching hug. "Oh Father-Funny!" implored Flame, "You were a Lay Reader once! You must have had _very_ amorous eyes!Couldn't you _please_ persuade Mother that. . . "

With a crisp flutter of skirts Flame's Mother, herself, appearedabruptly in the door. Her manner was very excited. 

"Why wherever in the world have you people been?" she cried. "Are youstone deaf? Didn't you hear the telephone? Couldn't you even hear mecalling? Your Uncle Wally is worse! That is he's better but he thinkshe's worse! And they want us to come at once! It's something about anew will! The Lawyer telephoned! He advises us to come at once!They've sent an automobile for us! It will be here any minute!. . . Butwhatever in the world shall we do about Flame?" she crieddistractedly. "You know how Uncle Wally feels about having youngpeople in the house! And she can't possibly go to Aunt Minna's tillto-morrow! And. . . . "

"But you see I'm not going to Aunt Minna's!" announced Flame quiteserenely. Slipping down from her Father's lap she stood with a round, roly-poly flannel sort of dignity confronting both her parents. "Father says I don't have to!"

"Why, Flame!" protested her Father. 

"No, of course, you didn't say it with your mouth, " admitted Flame. "But you said it with your skin and bones!--I could feel it working. "

"Not go to your Aunt Minna's?" gasped her Mother. "What do you want todo?. . . Stay at home and spend Christmas with the Lay Reader?"

"When you and Father talk like that, " murmured Flame with somehauteur, "I don't know whether you're trying to run him down . . . Orrun him up. "

"Well, how do you feel about him yourself?" veered her Father quiteirrelevantly. 

"Oh, I like him--some, " conceded Flame. In her bright cheeks suddenlyan even brighter color glowed. "I like him when he leaves out theLitany, " she said. "I've told him I like him when he leaves out theLitany. --He's leaving it out more and more I notice. --Yes, I like himvery much. "

"But this Aunt Minna business, " veered back her Father suddenly. "What_do_ you want to do? That's just the question. What _do_ you want todo?"

"Yes, what do you want to do?" panted her Mother. 

"I want to make a Christmas for myself!" said Flame. "Oh, of course, Iknow perfectly well, " she agreed, "that I could go to a dozen placesin the Parish and be cry-babied over for my presumable loneliness. Andprobably I _should_ cry a little, " she wavered, "towards thedessert--when the plum pudding came in and it wasn't likeMother's. --But if I made a Christmas of my own--" she ralliedinstantly. "Everything about it would be brand-new and unassociated! Itell you I _want_ to make a Christmas of my own! It's the chance of alife-time! Even Father sees that it's the chance of a life-time!"

"Do you?" demanded his wife a bit pointedly. 

"_Honk-honk!_" screamed the motor at the door. 

"Oh, dear me, whatever in the world shall I do?" cried Flame's Mother. "I'm almost distracted! I'm--"

"When in Doubt do as the Doubters do, " suggested Flame's Father quitegenially. "Choose the most doubtful doubt on the docket and--Flame's gota pretty level head, " he interrupted himself very characteristically. 

"No young girl has a level heart, " asserted Flame's Mother. "I'm soworried about the Lay Reader. "

"Lay Reader?" murmured her Father. Already he had crossed thethreshold into the hall and was rummaging through an over-loaded hatrack for his fur coat. "Why, yes, " he called back, "I quite forgot toask. Just what kind of a Christmas is it, Flame, that you want tomake?" With unprecedented accuracy he turned at the moment to forcehis wife's arms into the sleeves of her own fur coat. 

Twice Flame rolled up her cuffs and rolled them down again before sheanswered. 

"I--I want to make a Surprise for Miss Flora, " she confided. 

"_Honk-honk!_" urged the automobile. 

"For Miss Flora?" gasped her Mother. 

"Miss Flora?" echoed her Father. 

"Why, at the Rattle-Pane House, you know!" rallied Flame. "Don't youremember that I called there this afternoon? It--it looked ratherlonely there. --I--think I could fix it. "

"Honk-honk-honk!" implored the automobile. 

"But who _is_ this Miss Flora?" cried her Mother. "I never heardanything so ridiculous in my life! How do we know she's respectable?"

"Oh, my dear, " deprecated Flame's Father. "Just as though the ownersof the Rattle-Pane House would rent it to any one who wasn'trespectable!"

"Oh, she's _very_ respectable, " insisted Flame. "Of a lineage sodistinguished--"

"How old might this paragon be?" queried her Father. 

"Old?" puzzled Flame. To her startled mind two answers only presentedthemselves. . . . Should she say "Oh, she's only just weaned, " or"Well, --she was invented about 1406?" Between these two dilemmas asingle compromise suggested itself. "She's _awfully_ wrinkled, " saidFlame; "that is--her face is. All wizened up, I mean. "

"Oh, then of course she _must_ be respectable, " twinkled Flame'sFather. 

"And is related in some way, " persisted Flame, "to Edward the2nd--Duke of York. "

"Of that guarantee of respectability I am, of course, not quite sosure, " said her Father. 

With a temperish stamping of feet, an infuriate yank of the door-bell, Uncle Wally's chauffeur announced that the limit of his endurance hadbeen reached. 

Blankly Flame's Mother stared at Flame's Father. Blankly Flame'sFather returned the stare. 

"Oh, _p-l-e-a-s-e_!" implored Flame. Her face was crinkled like finecrêpe. 

"Smooth out your nose!" ordered her Mother. On the verge ofcapitulation the same familiar fear assailed her. "Will you promisenot to see the Lay Reader?" she bargained. 

"--Yes'm, " said Flame. 

PART II

It's a dull person who doesn't wake up Christmas Morning with acuriously ticklish sense of Tinsel in the pit of his stomach!--A sortof a Shine! A kind of a Pain!

 "Glisten and Tears, Pang of the years. "

That's Christmas!

So much was born on Christmas Day! So much has died! So much is yet tocome! Balsam-Scented, with the pulse of bells, how the senses sing!Memories that wouldn't have batted an eye for all the Gabriel Trumpets inEternity leaping to life at the sound of a twopenny horn! Merry Folk whowere with us once and are no more! Dream Folk who have never been with usyet but will be some time! Ache of old carols! Zest of new-fangled games!Flavor of puddings! Shine of silver and glass! The pleasant frosty smell ofthe Express-man! The Gift Beautiful! The Gift Dutiful! The Gift that Didn'tCome! _Heigho_! Manger and Toy-Shop, --Miracle and Mirth, --

 "Glisten and Tears, LAUGH at the years!"

_That's_ Christmas!

Flame Nourice certainly was willing to laugh at the years. Eighteenusually is!

Waking at Dawn two single thoughts consumed her, --the Lay Reader, andthe humpiest of the express packages downstairs. 

The Lay Reader's name was Bertrand. "Bertrand the Lay Reader, " Flamealways called him. The rest of the Parish called him Mr. Laurello. 

It was the thought of Bertrand the Lay Reader that made Flame laughthe most. 

"As long as I've promised most faithfully not to see him, " shelaughed, "how can I possibly go to church? For the first Christmas inmy life, " she laughed, "I won't have to go to church!"

With this obligation so cheerfully canceled, the exploration of thehumpiest express package loomed definitely as the next task on thehorizon. 

Hoping for a fur coat from her Father, fearing for a set ofencyclopedias from her Mother, she tore back the wrappings with eagerhands only to find, --all-astonished, and half a-scream, --a gay, gauzylayer of animal masks nosing interrogatively up at her. Less practicalsurely than the fur coat, --more amusing, certainly, thanencyclopedias, --the funny "false faces" grinned up at her with acuriously excitative audacity. Where from?--No identifying card! Whatfor? No conceivable clew!--Unless perhaps just on general principles adonation for the Sunday School Christmas Tree?--But there wasn't goingto be any tree! Tentatively she reached into the box and touched thefiercely striped face of a tiger, the fantastically exaggerated beakof a red and green parrot. "U-m-m-m, " mused Flame. "Whatever in theworld shall I do with them?" Then quite abruptly she sank back on herheels and began to laugh and laugh and laugh. Even the Lay Reader hadnot received such a laughing But even to herself she did not say justwhat she was laughing at. It was a time for deeds, it would seem, andnot for words. 

Certainly the morning was very full of deeds!

There was, of course, a present from her Mother to be opened, --warm, woolly stockings and things like that. But no one was ever swervedfrom an original purpose by trying on warm, woolly stockings. And fromher Father there was the most absurd little box no bigger than yournose marked, "For a week in New York, " and stuffed to the brim withthe sweetest bright green dollar bills. But, of course, you couldn'ttry those on. And half the Parish sent presents. But no Parish eversent presents that needed to be tried on. No gay, fluffy scarfs, --nolacey, frivolous pettiskirts, --no bright delaying hat-ribbons! Justbooks, --illustrated poems usually, very wholesome pickles, --and alwaysa huge motto to recommend, "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men. "--To"Men"?--Why not to Women?--Why not at least to "_Dogs_?" questionedFlame quite abruptly. 

Taken all in all it was not a Christmas Morning of sentiment but aChristmas morning of _works_! Kitchen works, mostly! Useful, flavorousadventures with a turkey! A somewhat nervous sally with an apple pie!Intermittently, of course, a few experiments with flour paste! Aflaire or two with a paint brush! An errand to the attic! Interminablegiggles!

Surely it was four o'clock before she was even ready to start for theRattle-Pane House. And "starting" is by no means the same as arriving. Dragging a sledful of miscellaneous Christmas goods an eighth of amile over bare ground is not an easy task. She had to make threetugging trips. And each start was delayed by her big gray pussy catstealing out to try to follow her. And each arrival complicated by theyelpings and leapings and general cavortings of four dogs who didn'tsee any reason in the world why they shouldn't escape from theirforced imprisonment in the shed-yard and prance home with her. Evenwith the third start and the third arrival finally accomplished, thecrafty cat stood waiting for her on the steps of the Rattle-PaneHouse, --back arched, fur bristled, spitting like some new kind ofweather-cock at the storm in the shed-yard, and had to be thrust quiteunceremoniously into a much too small covered basket and lashed downwith yards and yards of tinsel that was needed quite definitely forsomething else. --It isn't just the way of the Transgressor that'shard. --Nobody's way is any too easy!

The door-key, though, was exactly where the old Butler had said itwould be, --under the door mat, and the key itself turned astonishinglycordially in the rusty old lock. Never in her whole little life havingowned a door-key to her own house it seemed quite an adventure initself to be walking thus possessively through an unfamiliar hallinto an absolutely unknown kitchen and goodness knew what on eitherside and beyond. 

Perfectly simply too as the old Butler had promised, the four dogdishes, heaping to the brim, loomed in prim line upon the kitchentable waiting for distribution. 

"U-m-m, " sniffed Flame. "Nothing but mush! _Mush_!--All over the worldto-day I suppose--while their masters are feasting at other people'shouses on puddings and--and cigarettes! How the poor darlings mustsuffer! Locked in sheds! Tied in yards! Stuffed down cellar!"

"Me-o-w, " twinged a plaintive hint from the hallway just outside. 

"Oh, but cats are different, " argued Flame. "So soft, so plushy, sospineless! Cats were _meant_ to be stuffed into things. "

Without further parleying she doffed her red tam and sweater, donned ahuge white all-enveloping pinafore, and started to ameliorate as bestshe could the Christmas sufferings of the "poor darlings" immediatelyat hand. 

It was at least a yellow kitchen, --or had been once. In all that gray, dank, neglected house, the one suggestion of old sunshine. 

"We shall have our dinner here, " chuckled Flame. "After the carols--weshall have our dinner here. "

Very boisterously in the yard just outside the window the four dogsscuffled and raced for sheer excitement and joy at this mostunexpected advent of human companionship. Intermittently from time totime by the aid of old boxes or barrels they clawed their way up tothe cobwebby window-sill to peer at the strange proceedings. Intermittently from time to time they fell back into the frozen yardin a chaos of fur and yelps. 

By five o'clock certainly the faded yellow kitchen must have lookedvery strange, even to a dog!

Straight down its dingy, wobbly-floored center stretched a long tablecheerfully spread with "the Rev. Mrs. Flamande Nourice's" second besttable cloth. Quaint high-backed chairs dragged in from the shadowyparlor circled the table. A pleasant china plate gleamed like ahand-painted moon before each chair. At one end of the table loomed abig brown turkey; at the other, the appropriate vegetables. Pies, cakes, and doughnuts, interspersed themselves between. Green wreathsstreaming with scarlet ribbons hung nonchalantly across everychair-top. Tinsel garlands shone on the walls. In the doorway reared ahastily constructed mimicry of a railroad crossing sign. 

[Illustration]

Directly opposite and conspicuously placed above the rusty stove-pipestretched the Parish's Gift Motto--duly re-adjusted. 

 "_Peace_ on _Earth_, Good Will to _Dogs_. "

"Fatuously silly, " admitted Flame even to herself. "But yet it doesadd something to the Gayety of Rations!"

Stepping aside for a single thrilling moment to study the full effectof her handiwork, the first psychological puzzle of her life smotesharply across her senses. Namely, that you never really get the wholefun out of anything unless you are absolutely alone. --But the veryfirst instant you find yourself absolutely alone with aReally-Good-Time you begin to twist and turn and hunt about forsomebody Very Special to share it with you!

The only "Very Special" person that Flame could think of was "Bertrandthe Lay Reader. "

All a-blush with the sheer mental surprise of it she fled to the sheddoor to summon the dogs. 

"Maybe even the dogs won't come!" she reasoned hectically. "Maybenothing will come! Maybe that's always the way things happen when youget your own way about something else!"

Like a blast from the Arctic the Christmas twilight swept in on her. It crisped her cheeks, --crinkled her hair! Turned her spine to a wispof tinsel! All outdoors seemed suddenly creaking with frost! Allindoors, with _unknownness_!

"Come, Beautiful-Lovely!" she implored. "Come, Lopsy! Miss Flora!Come, Blunder-Blot!'"

But there was really no need of entreaty. A turn of the door-knob wouldhave brought them! Leaping, loping, four abreast, they came plunginglike so many North Winds to their party! Streak of Snow, --Glow ofFire, --Frozen Mud--Sun-Spot!--Yelping-mouthed--slapping-tailed! Backsbristling! Legs stiffening! Wolf Hound, Setter, Bull Dog, Dalmatian, --each according to his kind, hurtling, crowding!

"Oh, dear me, dear me, " struggled Flame. "Maybe a carol would calmthem. "

To a certain extent a carol surely did. The hair-cloth parlor of theRattle-Pane House would have calmed anything. And the mousey smell ofthe old piano fairly jerked the dogs to its senile old ivory keyboard. Cocking their ears to its quavering treble notes, --snorting theirnostrils through its gritty guttural basses, they watched Flame'sfacile fingers sweep from sound to sound. 

"Oh, what a--glorious lark!" quivered Flame. "What a--a _lonely_glorious lark!"

Timidly at first but with an increasing abandon, half laughter andhalf tears, the clear young soprano voice took up its playfulparaphrase, "God rest you merrie--animals! Let nothing you dismay!"

caroled Flame. 

 "For--"

It was just at this moment that Beautiful-Lovely, the WolfHound, --muzzled lifted, eyes rolling, jabbed his shrill nose intospace and harmony with a carol of his own, --octaves of agony, --Heavenknows what of ecstasy, --that would have hurried an owl to its nest, aghoul to a moving picture show!

"Wow-Wow--_Wow_!" caroled Beautiful-Lovely. "Ww--ow--Ww--ow--_Ww--Oo--Wwwww_!"

As Flame's hands dropped from the piano the unmistakable creak of redwheels sounded on the frozen driveway just outside. 

No one but "Bertrand the Lay Reader" drove a buggy with red wheels! Tothe infinite scandalization of the Parish--no one but "Bertrand theLay Reader" drove a buggy with red wheels!--Fleet steps soundedsuddenly on the path! Startled fists beat furiously on the door!

"What is it? What is it?" shouted a familiar voice. "Whatever in theworld is happening? Is it _murder_? Let me in! _Let me in!_"

"Sil--ly!" hissed Flame through a crack in the door. "It's nothing buta party! Don't you know a--a party when you hear it?"

For an instant only, blank silence greeted her confidence. Then"Bertrand the Lay Reader" relaxed in an indisputably genuine gasp ofastonishment. 

"Why! Why, is that you, Miss Flame?" he gasped. "Why, I thought it wasa murder! Why--Why, whatever in the world are you doing here?"

"I--I'm having a party, " hissed Flame through the key-hole. 

"A--a--party?" stammered the Lay Reader. "Open the door!"

"No, I--can't, " said Flame. 

"Why not?" demanded the Lay Reader. 

Helplessly in the darkness of the vestibule Flame looked up, --anddown, --and sideways, --but met always in every direction the memory ofher promise. 

"I--I just can't, " she admitted a bit weakly. "It wouldn't beconvenient. --I--I've got trouble with my eyes. "

"Trouble with your eyes?" questioned the Lay Reader. 

"I didn't go away with my Father and Mother, " confided Flame. 

"No, --so I notice, " observed the Lay Reader. "_Please_ open the door!"

"Why?" parried Flame. 

"I've been looking for you everywhere, " urged the Lay Reader. "At theSenior Warden's! At all the Vestrymen's houses! Even at the Sexton's!I knew you didn't go away! The Garage Man told me there were onlytwo!--I thought surely I'd find you at your own house. --But I onlyfound sled tracks. "

"That was me, --I, " mumbled Flame. 

"And then I heard these awful screams, " shuddered the Lay Reader. 

"That was a Carol, " said Flame. 

"A Carol?" scoffed the Lay Reader. "Open the door!"

"Well--just a crack, " conceded Flame. 

It was astonishing how a man as broad-shouldered as the Lay Readercould pass so easily through a crack. 

Conscience-stricken Flame fled before him with her elbow crookedacross her forehead. 

"Oh, my eyes! My eyes!" she cried. 

"Well, really, " puzzled the Lay Reader. "Though I claim, of course, tobe ordinarily bright--I had never suspected myself of being actuallydazzling. "

"Oh, you're not bright at all, " protested Flame. "It's just mypromise. --I promised Mother not to see you!"

"Not to see _me_?" questioned the Lay Reader. It was astonishing howalmost instantaneously a man as purely theoretical as the Lay Readerwas supposed to be, thought of a perfectly practical solution to thedifficulty. "Why--why we might tie my big handkerchief across youreyes, " he suggested. "Just till we get this mystery straightenedout. --Surely there is nothing more or less than just plainrighteousness in--that!"

"What a splendid idea!" capitulated Flame. "But, of course, if I'mabsolutely blindfolded, " she wavered for a second only, "you'll haveto lead me by the hand. "

"I could do that, " admitted the Lay Reader. 

With the big white handkerchief once tied firmly across her eyes, Flame's last scruple vanished. 

"Well, you see, " she began quite precipitously, "I _did_ think itwould be such fun to have a party!--A party all my own, I mean!--Aparty just exactly as I wanted it! No Parish in it at all! Or goodworks! Or anything! Just _fun_!--And as long as Mother and Father hadto go away anyway--" Even though the blinding bandage the young eyesseemed to lift in a half wistful sort of appeal. "You see there's somesort of property involved, " she confided quite impulsively. "UncleWally's making a new will. There's a corn-barn and a private chapeland a collection of Chinese lanterns and a piebald pony principallyunder dispute. --Mother, of course thinks we ought to have thecorn-barn. But Father can't decide between the Chinese lanterns andthe private chapel. --Personally, " she sighed, "I'm hoping for thepiebald pony. "

"Yes, but this--party?" prodded the Lay Reader. 

"Oh, yes, --the party--" quickened Flame. 

"Why have it in a deserted house?" questioned the Lay Reader with someincisiveness. 

Even with her eyes closely bandaged Flame could see perfectly clearlythat the Lay Reader was really quite troubled. 

"Oh, but you see it isn't exactly a deserted house, " she explained. 

"Who lives here?" demanded the Lay Reader. 

"I don't know--exactly, " admitted Flame. "But the Butler is a friendof mine and--"

"The--Butler is a friend of yours?" gasped the Lay Reader. Already, ifFlame could only have seen it, his head was cocked with suddenintentness towards the parlor door. "There is certainly something verystrange about all this, " he whispered a bit hectically. "I couldalmost have sworn that I heard a faint scuffle, --the horrid sound of aperson--strangling. "

"Strangling?" giggled Flame. "Oh, that is just the sound of MissFlora's 'girlish glee'! If she'd only be content to chew the corner ofthe piano cover! But when she insists on inhaling it, too!"

"Miss Flora?" gasped the Lay Reader. "Is this a Mad House?"

"Miss Flora is a--a dog, " confided Flame a bit coolly. "Ineglected--it seems--to state that this is a dog-party that I'mhaving. "

"_Dogs_?" winced the Lay Reader. "Will they bite?"

"Only if you don't trust them, " confided Flame. 

"But it's so hard to trust a dog that will bite you if you don't trusthim, " frowned the Lay Reader. "It makes such a sort of a--a viciouscircle, as it were. "

"Vicious Circe?" mused Flame, a bit absent-mindedly. "No, I don'tthink it's nice at all to call Miss Flora a 'Vicious Circe. '" It wasFlame's turn now to wince back a little. "I--I hate people who hatedogs!" she cried out quite abruptly. 

"Oh, I don't hate them, " lied the Lay Reader like a gentleman, "it'sonly that--that--. You see a dog bit me once!" he confided withsignificant emphasis. 

"I--bit a dentist--once, " mused Flame without any emphasis at all. 

"Oh, but I say, Miss Flame, " deprecated the Lay Reader. "That'sdifferent! When a dog bites you, you know, there's always more or lessquestion whether he was mad or not. "

"There doesn't seem to have been any question at all, " mused Flame, "that _you_ were mad! Did you have _your_ head sent off to beinvestigated or anything?"

"Oh, I say, Miss Flame, " implored the Lay Reader, "I tell you I _like_dogs, --good dogs! I assure you I'm very--oh, very much interested inthis dog party of yours! Such a quaint idea! So--so--! If I could beof any possible assistance?" he implored. 

"Maybe you could be, " relaxed Flame ever so faintly. "But if you'rereally coming to my party, " she stiffened again, "you've got to behavelike my party!"

"Why, of course I'll behave like your party!" laughed the Lay Reader. 

"There _is_ a problem, " admitted Flame. "Five problems, to beperfectly accurate. --Four dogs, and a cat in the wood-shed. "

"And a cat in the wood-shed?" echoed the Lay Reader quite idiotically. 

"The table is set, " affirmed Flame. "The places, all ready!--But Idon't know how to get the dogs into their chairs!--They run around so!They yelp! They jump!--They haven't had a mouthful to eat, you see, since last night, this time!--And when they once see the turkeyI'm--I'm afraid they'll stampede it. "

"Turkey?" quizzed the Lay Reader who had dined that day on cornedbeef. 

"Oh, of course, mush was what they were intended to have, " admittedFlame. "Piles and piles of mush! Extra piles and piles of mush Ishould judge because it was Christmas Day!. . . But don't you think mushdoes seem a bit dull?" she questioned appealingly. "For ChristmasDay? Oh, I did think a turkey would taste so good!"

"It certainly would, " conceded the Lay Reader. 

"So if you'd help me--" wheedled Flame, "it would be well-worthstaying blindfolded for. . . . For, of course, I shall have to stayblindfolded. But I can see a little of the floor, " she admitted, "though I couldn't of course break my promise to my Mother by seeingyou. "

"No, certainly not, " admitted the Lay Reader. 

"Otherwise--" murmured Flame with a faint gesture towards the door. 

"I will help you, " said the Lay Reader. 

"Where is your hand?" fumbled Flame. 

"_Here_!" attested the Lay Reader. 

"Lead us to the dogs!" commanded Flame. 

Now the Captain of a ship feels genuinely obligated, it would seem, togo down with his ship if tragic circumstances so insist. But henever, --so far as I've ever heard, felt the slightest obligationwhatsoever to go down with another captain's ship, --to be martyred inshort for any job not distinctly his own. So Bertrand Lorello, --whofor the cause he served, wouldn't have hesitated an instant probably, to be torn by Hindoo lions, --devoured by South Sea cannibals, --fallenupon by a chapel spire, --trampled to death even at a church rummagesale, --saw no conceivable reason at the moment for being eaten by dogsat a purely social function. 

Even groping through a balsam-scented darkness with one hand claspingthe thrilly fingers of a lovely young girl, this distaste did notaltogether leave him. 

"This--this mush that you speak of?" he questioned quite abruptly. "With the dogs as--as nervous as you say, --so unfortunately liable tostampede? Don't you think that perhaps a little mush served first, --agood deal of mush I would say, served first, --might act as a--as asort of anesthetic?. . . Somewhere in the past I am almost sure I haveread that mush in sufficient quantities, you understand, is reallyquite a--quite an anesthetic. "

Very palpably in the darkness he heard a single throaty swallow. 

"Lead us to the--mush, " said Flame. 

In another instant the door-knob turned in his hand, and the cheerfulkitchen lamp-light, --glitter of tinsel, --flare of red ribbons, --savorof foods, smote sharply on him. 

"Oh, I say, how _jolly_!" cried the Lay Reader. 

"Don't let me bump into anything!" begged the blindfolded Flame, stillholding tight to his hand. 

"Oh, I say, Miss Flame, " kindled the entranced Lay Reader, "it's _you_that look the jolliest! All in white that way! I've never seen youwear _that_ to church, have I?"

"This is a pinafore, " confided Flame coolly. "A bungalow apron, thefashion papers call it. . . . No, you've never seen me wear--this tochurch. "

"O--h, " said the Lay Reader. 

"Get the mush, " said Flame. 

"The what?" asked the Lay Reader. 

"It's there on the table by the window, " gestured Flame. "Please setall four dishes on the floor, --each dish, of course, in a separatecorner, " ordered Flame. "There is a reason. . . . And then open theparlor door. "

"Open the parlor door?" questioned the Lay Reader. It was no meregrammatical form of speech but a real query in the Lay Reader's mind. 

"Well, maybe I'd better, " conceded Flame. "Lead me to it. "

Roused into frenzy by the sound of a stranger's step, a stranger'svoice, the four dogs fumed and seethed on the other side of the panel. 

"Sniff--Sniff--_Snort_!" the Red Setter sucked at the crack in thedoor. 

"Woof! Woof! _Woof_!" roared the big Wolf Hound. 

"Slam! Bang! Slash!" slapped the Dalmatian's crisp weight. 

"Yi! Yi! Yi!" sang the Bull Dog. 

"Hush! _Hush_, Dogs!" implored Flame. "This is Father's Lay Reader!"

"Your--Lay Reader!" contradicted the young man gallantly. It _was_pretty gallant of him, wasn't it? Considering everything?

In another instant four _shapes_ with teeth in them came hurtlingthrough!

If Flame had never in her life admired the Lay Reader she certainlywould have admired him now for the sheer cold-blooded foresight whichhad presaged the inevitable reaction of the dogs upon the mush and themush upon the dogs. With a single sniff at his heels, a prod of pawsin his stomach, the onslaught swerved--and passed. Guzzlingly fromfour separate corners of the room issued sounds of joy andfulfillment. 

With an impulse quite surprising even to herself Flame thrust bothhands into the Lay Reader's clasp. 

"You _are_ nice, aren't you?" she quickened. In an instant of weaknessone hand crept up to the blinding bandage, and recovered its honor asinstantly. "Oh, I do wish I _could_ see you, " sighed Flame. "You're sogood-looking! Even Mother thinks you're _so_ good-looking!. . . Thoughshe does get awfully worked up, of course, about your 'amorous eyes'!"

"Does your Mother think I've got . . . 'amorous eyes'?" asked the LayReader a bit tersely. Behind his spectacles as he spoke the orbs inquestion softened and glowed like some rare exotic bloom under glass. "Does your Mother . . . Think I've got amorous eyes?"

"Oh, yes!" said Flame. 

"And your Father?" drawled the Lay Reader. 

"Why, Father says _of course_ you've got 'amorous eyes'!" confidedFlame with the faintest possible tinge of surprise at even being askedsuch a question. "That's the funny thing about Mother and Father, "chuckled Flame. "They're always saying the same thing and meaningsomething entirely different by it. Why, when Mother says with hermouth all pursed up, 'I have every reason to believe that Mr. Lorellois engaged to the daughter of the Rector in his former Parish, ' Fatherjust puts back his head and howls, and says, 'Why, _of course_, Mr. Lorello is engaged to the daughter of the Rector in his former Parish!All Lay Readers. . . . "

In the sudden hush that ensued a faint sense of uneasiness flickeredthrough Flame's shoulders. 

"Is it you that have hushed? Or the dogs?" she asked. 

"The dogs, " said the Lay Reader. 

Very cautiously, absolutely honorably, Flame turned her back to theLay Reader, and lifted the bandage just far enough to prove the LayReader's assertion. 

Bulging with mush the four dogs lay at rest on rounding sides withlimp legs straggling, or crouched like lions' heads on paws, withlimpid eyes blinking above yawny mouths. 

"O--h, " crooned Flame. "How sweet! Only, of course, with what's tofollow, " she regretted thriftily, "it's an awful waste of mush. . . . Excelsior warmed in the oven would have served just as well. "

At the threat of a shadow across her eyeball she jerked the bandageback into place. 

"Now, Mr. Lorello, " she suggested blithely, "if you'll get theBibles. . . . "

"Bibles?" stiffened the Lay Reader. "Bibles? Why, really, Miss Flame, I couldn't countenance any sort of mock service! Even just for--forquaintness, --even for Christmas quaintness!"

"Mock service?" puzzled Flame. "Bibles?. . . Oh, I don't want you topreach out of 'em, " she hastened perfectly amiably to explain. "All Iwant them for is to plump-up the chairs. . . . The seats you see are toolow for the dogs. . . . Oh, I suppose dictionaries would do, " shecompromised reluctantly. "Only dictionaries are always so scarce. "

Obediently the Lay Reader raked the parlor book-cases for"plump-upable" books. With real dexterity he built Chemistries onSermons and Ancient Poems on Cook Books till the desired heights werereached. 

For a single minute more Flame took another peep at the table. 

"Set a chair for yourself directly opposite me!" she ordered. Forsheer hilarious satisfaction her feet began to dance and her hands toclap. "And whenever I really feel obliged to look, " she sparkled, "you'll just have to leave the table, that's all!. . . And now. . . ?"Appraisingly her muffled eye swept the shining vista. "Perfect!" shetriumphed. "Perfect!" Then quite abruptly the eager mouth wilted. "Why . . . Why I've forgotten the carving knife and fork!" she cried outin real distress. "Oh, how stupid of me!" Arduously, but withoutavail, she searched through all the drawers and cupboards of theRattle-Pane kitchen. A single alternative occurred to her. "You'llhave to go over to my house and get them, --Mr. Lorello!" she said. "Were you ever in my kitchen? Or my pantry?"

"No, " admitted the Lay Reader. 

"Well, you'll have to climb in through the window--someway, " worriedFlame. "I've mislaid my key somewhere here among all these dishes andboxes. And the pantry, " she explained very explicitly, "is the thirddoor on the right as you enter. . . . You'll see a chest of drawers. Open the second of 'em. . . . Or maybe you'd better look through all ofthem. . . . Only please . . . Please hurry!" Imploringly the little headlifted. 

"If I hurry enough, " said the Lay Reader quite impulsively, "may Ihave a kiss when I get back?"

"A kiss?" hooted Flame. In the curve of her cheek a dimple openedsuddenly. "Well . . . Maybe, " said Flame. 

As though the word were wings the Lay Reader snatched his hat and spedout into the night. 

It was astonishing how all the warm housey air seemed to rush out withhim, and all the shivery frost rush back. 

A little bit listlessly Flame dragged down the bandage from her eyes. 

"It must be the creaks on the stairs that make it so awfully lonelyall of a sudden, " argued Flame. "It must be because the dogs snoreso. . . . No mere man could make it so empty. " With a precipitous nudgeof the memory she dashed to the door and helloed to the fastretreating figure. "Oh, Bertrand! Bertrand!" she called, "I got sortof mixed up. It's the second door on the left! And if you don't find'em there you'd better go up in Mother's room and turn out the silverchest! _Hurry_!"

Rallying back to the bright Christmas kitchen for the real business athand, an accusing blush rose to the young spot where the dimple hadbeen. 

"Oh, Shucks!" parried Flame. "I kissed a Bishop before I wasfive!--What's a Lay Reader?" As one humanely willing to condone thefuture as well as the past she rolled up her white sleeves withoutfurther introspection, and dragged out from the protecting shadow ofthe sink the "humpiest box" which had so excited her emotions at homein an earlier hour of the day. Cracklingly under her eager fingers theclumsy cover slid off, exposing once more to her enraptured gaze thegay-colored muslin layer of animal masks leering fatuously up at her. 

Only with her hand across her mouth did she keep from crying out. Veryswiftly her glance traveled from the grinning muslin faces before herto the solemn fur faces on the other side of the room. The hand acrossher mouth tightened. 

"Why, it's something like Creation, " she giggled. "This having todecide which face to give to which animal!"

As expeditiously as possible she made her selection. 

"Poor Miss Flora must be so tired of being so plain, " she thought. "I'll give her the first choice of everything! Something reallylovely! It can't help resting her!"

With this kind idea in mind she selected for Miss Flora a canary'sface. --Softly yellow! Bland as treacle! Its swelling, tender muslinthroat fairly reeking with the suggestion of innocent song! No onegazing once upon such ornithological purity would ever speak a harshword again, even to a sparrow!

Nudging Miss Flora cautiously from her sonorous nap, Flame beguiledher with half a doughnut to her appointed chair, boosted her stillcautiously to her pinnacle of books, and with various swiftadjustments of fasteners, knotting of tie-strings, --an extra breathinghole jabbed through the beak, slipped the canary's beautiful blondcountenance over Miss Flora's frankly grizzled mug. 

For a single terrifying instant Miss Flora's crinkled sidestightened, --a snarl like ripped silk slipped through her straininglungs. Then once convinced that the mask was not a gas-box sheaccepted the liberty with reasonable _sang-froid_ and sat blinkingbeadily out through the canary's yellow-rimmed eye-sockets with frankcuriosity towards such proceedings as were about to follow. It waseasy to see she was accustomed to sitting in chairs. 

For the Wolf Hound Flame chose a Giraffe's head. Certain anatomicalsimilarities seemed to make the choice wise. With a long vividlystriped stockinet neck wrinkling like a mousquetaire glove, the neatsmall head that so closely fitted his own neat small head, thetweaked, interrogative ears, --Beautiful-Lovely, the Wolf Hound, rearedup majestically in his own chair. He also, once convinced that themask was not a gas-box, resigned himself to the inevitable, andcorporeally independent of such vain props as Chemistries or Sermons, lolled his fine height against the mahogany chair-back. 

To Blunder-Blot, the trim Dalmatian, Flame assigned the Parrot's head, arrogantly beaked, gorgeously variegated, altogether querulous. 

For Lopsy, the crafty Setter, she selected a White Rabbit's artless, pink-eared visage. 

Yet out of the whole box of masks it had been the Bengal Tiger'sfiercely bewhiskered visage that had fascinated Flame the most. Regretfully from its more or less nondescript companions, she pickedup the Bengal Tiger now and pulled at its real, bristle-whiskers. Inone of the chairs a dog stirred quite irrelevantly. Cocking her ownhead towards the wood-shed Flame could not be perfectly sure whethershe heard a twinge of cat or a twinge of conscience. The unflinchingglare of the Bengal Tiger only served to increase her self-reproach. 

"After all, " reasoned Flame, "it would be easy enough to set anotherplace! And pile a few extra books!. . . I'm almost sure I saw a blackplush bag in the parlor. . . . If the cat could be put in something likea black plush bag, --something perfectly enveloping like that? So thatnot a single line of its--its figure could be observed?. . . And it hada new head given it? A perfectly sufficient head--like a BengalTiger?--I see no reason why--"

In five minutes the deed was accomplished. Its lovely sinuous "figure"reduced to the stolid contour of a black plush work-bag, its smalluneasy head thrust into the roomy muslin cranium of the Bengal Tiger, the astonished Cat found herself slumping soggily on a great teeteringpile of books, staring down as best she might through the BengalTiger's ear at the weirdest assemblage of animals which any domesticcat of her acquaintance had ever been forced to contemplate. 

Coincidental with the appearance of the Cat a faint thrill passedthrough the rest of the company. . . . Nothing very much! No more, noless indeed, than passes through any company at the introduction ofpurely extraneous matter. From the empty plate which she hadcommandeered as a temporary pillow the Yellow Canary lifted aninterrogative beak. . . . That was all! At Flame's left, the White-HairedRabbit emitted an incongruous bark. . . . Scarcely worth reporting!Across the table the Giraffe thumped a white, plumy tail. Thoughtfullythe Parrot's hooked nose slanted slightly to one side. 

"Oh, I wish Bertrand would come!" fretted Flame. "Maybe this timehe'll notice my 'Christmas Crossing' sign!" she chuckled with suddentriumph. "Talk about surprises!" Very diplomatically as she spoke shebroke another doughnut in two and drew all the dogs' attention toherself. Almost hysterical with amusement she surveyed the scenebefore her. "Well, at least we can have 'grace' before the Preachercomes!" she laughed. A step on the gravel walk startled her suddenly. In a flash she had jerked down the blind-folding handkerchief acrossher eyes again, and folding her hands and the doughnut before herburst softly into paraphrase. 

 'Now we--sit us down to eat Thrice our share of Flesh and Sweet. If we should burst before we're through, Oh what in--Dogdom shall we do?'

Thus it was that the Master of the House, returning unexpectedly tohis unfamiliar domicile, stumbled upon a scene that might have shakenthe reason of a less sober young man. 

Startled first by the unwonted illumination from his kitchen windows, and second by the unprecedented aroma of Fir Balsam that greeted himeven through the key-hole of his new front door, his feelings may wellbe imagined when groping through the dingy hall he first beheld thegallows-like structure reared in the kitchen doorway. 

"My God!" he ejaculated, "Barrett is getting ready to hang himself!Gone mad probably--or something!"

Curdled with horror he forced himself to the object, only to note withconvulsive relief but increasing bewilderment the cheerful phrasingand ultimate intent of the structure itself. "'Christmas Crossing'?"he repeated blankly. "'Look out for Surprises'?--'Shop, Cook, andGlisten'?" With his hand across his eyes he reeled back slightlyagainst the wall. "It is I that have gone mad!" he gasped. 

A little uncertain whether he was afraid of What-He-Was-About-to-See, or whether What-He-Was-About-to-See ought to be afraid of him, hecraned his neck as best he could round the corner of the huge buffetthat blocked the kitchen vista. A fresh bewilderment met his eyes. Where he had once seen cobwebs flapping grayly across thechimney-breast loomed now the gay worsted recommendation that _dogsspecially_, should be considered in the Christmas Season. Throwing allcaution aside he passed the buffet and plunged into the kitchen. 

"Oh, _do_ hurry!" cried an eager young voice. "I thought my hairwould be white before you came!"

Like a man paralyzed he stopped short in his tracks to stare at thescene before him! The long, bright table! The absolutely formal food!A blindfolded girl! A perfectly strange blindfolded girl . . . With herdark hair forty years this side of white--_begging him to hurry_!. . . ABlack Velvet Bag surmounted by a Tiger's head stirring strangely in achair piled high with books!. . . Seated next to the Black Velvet Bag aCanary as big as a Turkey Gobbler!. . . A Giraffe stepping suddenlyforward with--with dog-paws thrust into his soup plate!. . . A WhiteRabbit heavily wreathed in holly rousing cautiously from hiscushions!. . . A Parrot with a twitching black and white short-hairedtail!. . . An empty chair facing the Girl! _An empty chair facing theGirl. _

"If this is _madness_, " thought Delcote quite precipitously, "I am atleast the Master of the Asylum!"

In another instant, with a prodigious stride he had slipped into thevacant seat. 

". . . So sorry to have kept you waiting, " he murmured. 

At the first sound of that unfamiliar voice, Flame yanked thehandkerchief from her eyes, took one blank glance at the Stranger, andburst forth into a muffled, but altogether blood-curdling scream. 

"Oh . . . Oh . . . Owwwwwwww!" said the scream. 

As though waiting only for that one signal to break the spell of theirenchantment, the Canary leaped upward and grabbed the Bengal Tiger byhis muslin nose, --the White Rabbit sprang to "point" on the coolingturkey, and the Red and Green Parrot fell to the floor in a desperateeffort to settle once and for all with the black spot that itched soimpulsively on his left shoulder!

For a moment only, in comparative quiet, the Concerned struggled withthe Concerned. Then true to all Dog Psychology, --absolutelyindisputable, absolutely unalterable, the Non-Concerned leaped in uponthe Non-Concerned! Half on his guard, but wholely on his itch, thejostled Parrot shot like a catapult across the floor! Lost to allsense of honor or table-manners the benign-faced Giraffe with hisbenign face still towering blandly in the air, burst through his ownneck with a most curious anatomical effect, --locked his teeth in theParrot's gay throat and rolled with him under the table in mortalcombat!

Round and round the room spun the Yellow Canary and the Black PlushBag!

Retreating as best she could from her muslin nose, --the Bengal Tigeror rather that which was within the Bengal Tiger, waged her war forFreedom! Ripping like a chicken through its shell she succeeded atlast in hatching one front paw and one hind paw into action. Wallowing, --stumbling, --rolling, --yowling, --she humped frommantle-piece to chair-top, and from box to table. 

Loyally the rabbit-eared Setter took up the chase. Mauled in thescuffle he ran with his meek face upside down! Lost to all reason, defiant of all morale, he proceeded to flush the game!

Dish-pans clattered, stools tipped over, pictures banged on the walls!

From her terrorized perch on the back of her chair Flame watched thefracas with dilated eyes. 

Hunched in the hug of his own arms the Stranger sat rocking himself toand fro in uncontrollable, choking mirth, --"ribald mirth" was whatFlame called it. 

"Stop!" she begged. "Stop it! Somebody _stop_ it!"

It was not until the Black Plush Bag at bay had ripped a red streakdown Miss Flora's avid nose that the Stranger rose to interfere. 

Very definitely then, with quick deeds, incisive words, he separatedthe immediate combatants, and ordered the other dogs into submission. 

"Here you, Demon Direful!" he addressed the white Wolf Hound. "Dropthat, Orion!" he shouted to the Irish Setter. "Cut it out, John!" hethundered at the Coach Dog. 

"Their names are 'Beautiful-Lovely'!" cried Flame. "And 'Lopsy!' and'Blunder-Blot!'"

With his hand on the Wolf Hound's collar, the Stranger stopped andstared up with frank astonishment, not to say resentment, at thegirl's interference. 

"Their names are _what_?" he said. 

Something in the special intonation of the question infuriatedFlame. . . . Maybe she thought his mouth scornful, --his narrowingeyes. . . ? Goodness knows what she thought of his suddenly narrowingeyes!

In an instant she had jumped from her retreat to the floor. 

"Who are you, anyway?" she demanded. "How dare you come here likethis? Butting into my party!. . . And--and spoiling my discipline withthe dogs! Who are you, I say?"

With Demon Direful, alias Beautiful-Lovely tugging wildly at hisrestraint, the Stranger's scornful mouth turned precipitously up, instead of down. 

"Who am I?" he said. "Why, no one special at all except just--theMaster of the House!"

"_What_?" gasped Flame. 

"Earle Delcote, " bowed the Stranger. 

With a little hand that trembled perfectly palpably Flame reached backto the arm of the big carved chair for support. 

"Why--why, but Mr. Delcote is an old man, " she gasped. "I'm almostsure he's an old man. "

The smile on Delcote's mouth spread suddenly to his eyes. 

"Not yet, --Thank God!" he bowed. 

With a panic-stricken glance at doors, windows, cracks, the chimneypipe itself, Flame sank limply down in her seat again and gesturedtowards the empty place opposite her. 

"Have a--have a chair, " she stammered. Great tears welled suddenly toher eyes. "Oh, I--I know I oughtn't to be here, " she struggled. "It'sperfectly . . . Awful! I haven't the slightest right! Not the slightest!It's the--the cheekiest thing that any girl in the world ever did!. . . But your Butler said. . . ! And he did so want to go away and--And I didso love your dogs! And I did so want to make _one_ Christmas in theworld just--exactly the way I wanted it! And--and--Mother and Fatherwill be crazy!. . . And--and--"

Without a single glance at anything except herself, the Master of theHouse slipped back into his chair. 

"Have a heart!" he said. 

Flame did _not_ accept this suggestion. With a very severe frown anddowncast eyes she sat staring at the table. It seemed a very cheerlesstable suddenly, with all the dogs in various stages of disheveledfinery grouped blatantly around their Master's chair. 

"I can at least have my cat, " she thought, "my--faithful cat!" Inanother instant she had slipped from the table, extracted poor Pussfrom a clutter of pans in the back of a cupboard, stripped the lastshred of masquerade from her outraged form, and brought her backgrowling and bristling to perch on one arm of the high-backed chair. "Th--ere!" said Flame. 

Glancing up from this innocent triumph, she encountered the eyes ofthe Master of the House fixed speculatively on the big turkey. 

"I'm afraid everything is very cold, " she confided with distinctlyformal regret. 

"Not for anything, " laughed Delcote quite suddenly, "would I have keptyou waiting--if I had only known. "

Two spots of color glowed hotly in the girl's cheeks. 

"It was not for you I was waiting, " she said coldly. 

"N--o?" teased Delcote. "You astonish me. For whom, then? Someincredible wight who, worse than late--isn't going to show up atall?. . . Heaven sent, I consider myself. . . . How else could so little agirl have managed so big a turkey?"

"There . . . Isn't any . . . Carving knife, " whispered Flame. 

The tears were glistening on her cheeks now instead of just in hereyes. A less observing man than Delcote might have thought the tearswere really for the carving knife. 

"What? No carving knife?" he roared imperiously. "And the houseguaranteed 'furnished'?" Very furiously he began to hunt all aroundthe kitchen in the most impossible places. 

"Oh, it's furnished all right, " quivered Flame. "It's just chock-fullof dead things! Pressed flowers! And old plush bags! And pressedflowers! And--and pressed flowers!"

"Great Heavens!" groaned Delcote. "And I came here to forget 'deadthings'!"

"Your--your Butler said you'd had misfortunes, " murmured Flame. 

"Misfortunes?" rallied Delcote. "I should think I had! In a singleyear I've lost health, --money, --most everything I own in the worldexcept my man and my dogs!"

"They're . . . Good dogs, " testified Flame. 

"And the Doctor's sent me here for six months, " persisted Delcote, "before he'll even hear of my plunging into things again!"

"Six months is a--a good long time, " said Flame. "If you'd turn thehems we could make yellow curtains for the parlor in no time at all!"

"W--we?" stammered Delcote. 

"M--Mother, " said Flame. ". . . It's a long time since any dogs lived inthe Rattle-Pane House. "

"Rattle-_Brain_ house?" bridled Delcote. 

"Rattle-_Pane_ House, " corrected Flame. 

A little bit worriedly Delcote returned to his seat. 

"I shall have to rend the turkey, instead of carve it, " he said. 

"Rend it, " acquiesced Flame. 

In the midst of the rending a dark frown appeared between Delcote'seyes. 

"These--these guests that you were expecting--?" he questioned. 

"Oh, _stop_!" cried Flame. "Dreadful as I am I never--never would havedreamed of inviting 'guests'!"

"This 'guest' then, " frowned Delcote. "Was he. . . ?"

"Oh, you mean . . . Bertrand?" flushed Flame. "Oh, truly, I didn'tinvite him! He just butted in . . . Same as you!"

"Same as . . . I?" stammered Delcote. 

"Well. . . " floundered Flame. "Well . . . You know what I mean and . . . "

With peculiar intentness the Master of the House fixed his eyes on theknotted white handkerchief which Flame had thrown across the corner ofher chair. 

"And is this 'Bertrand' person so . . . So dazzling, " he questioned, "that human eye may not look safely upon his countenance?"

"Bertrand . . . Dazzling?" protested Flame. "Oh, no! He's really quitedull. . . . It was only, " she explained with sudden friendliness, "It wasonly that I had promised Mother not to 'see' him. . . . So, of course, when he butted in I. . . . "

"O--h, " relaxed the Master of the House. With a precipitous flippancyof manners which did not conform at all to the somewhat tragicausterity of his face he snatched up his knife and fork and thumpedjoyously on the table with the handles of them. "And some people talkabout a country village being dull in the Winter Time!" he chuckled. "With a Dog's Masquerade and a Robbery at the Rectory all happeningthe same evening!" Grabbing her cat in her arms, Flame jerked herchair back from the table. 

"A--a robbery at the Rectory?" she gasped. "Why--why, I'm the Rectory!I must go home at once!"

"Oh, Shucks!" shrugged the Master of the House. "It's all over now. But the people at the railroad station were certainly buzzing about itas I came through. "

"B--buzzing about it?" articulated Flame with some difficulty. 

Expeditiously the Master of the House resumed his rending of theturkey. 

"Are you really from the Rectory?" he questioned. "How amusing. . . . Well, there's nothing really you could do about it now. . . . Theconstable and his prisoner are already on their way to the CountySeat--wherever that may be. And a freshly 'burgled' house is rather acreepy place for a young girl to return to all alone. . . . Your parentsare away, I believe?"

"Con--stable . . . Constable, " babbled Flame quite idiotically. 

"Yes, the regular constable was off Christmasing somewhere it seems, so he put a substitute on his job, a stranger from somewhere. Somesubstitute that! No mulling over hot toddies on Christmas night forhim! He _saw_ the marauder crawling in through the Rectory window! He_saw_ him fumbling now to the left, now to the right, all through thefront hall! He followed him up the stairs to a closet where the silverwas evidently kept! He caught the man red-handed as it were! Orrather--white-handed, " flushed the Master of the House for some quiteunaccountable reason. "To be perfectly accurate, " he explainedconscientiously, "he was caught with a pair of--of--" Delicately hespelt out the word. "With a pair of--c-o-r-s-e-t-s rolled up in hishand. But inside the roll it seemed there was a solid silver--veryelaborate carving set which the Parish had recently presented. Thewretch was just unrolling it, --them, when he was caught. "

"That was Bertrand!" said Flame. "My Father's Lay Reader. "

It was the man's turn now to jump to his feet. 

"_What_?" he cried. 

"I sent him for the carving knife, " said Flame. 

"_What_?" repeated the man. Consternation versus Hilarity went racingsuddenly like a cat-and-dog combat across his eyes. 

"Yes, " said Flame. 

From the outside door the sound of furious knocking occurred suddenly. 

"That sounds to me like--like parents' knocking, " shivered Flame. 

"It sounds to me like an escaped Lay Reader, " said her Host. 

With a single impulse they both started for the door. 

"Don't worry, Little Girl, " whispered the young Stranger in the darkhall. 

"I'll try not to, " quivered Flame. 

They were both right, it seemed. 

It was Parents _and_ the Lay Reader. 

All three breathless, all three excited, all three reproachful, --theyswept into the warm, balsam-scented Rattle-Pane House with a gust offrost, a threat of disaster. 

"F--lame, " sighed her Father. 

"Flame!" scolded her Mother. 

"Flame?" implored the Lay Reader. 

"What a pretty name, " beamed the Master of the House. "Pray be seated, everybody, " he gestured graciously to left and right, --shoving onedog expeditiously under the table with his foot, while he yankedanother out of a chair with his least gesticulating hand. "This iscertainly a very great pleasure, I assure you, " he affirmed distinctlyto Miss Flamande Nourice. "Returning quite unexpectedly to my newhouse this lonely Christmas evening, " he explained very definitely tothe Rev. Flamande Nourice, "I can't express to you what it means to meto find this pleasant gathering of neighbors waiting here to welcomeme! And when I think of the effort _you_ must have made to get here, Mr. Bertrand, " he beamed. "A young man of all your obligationsand--complications--"

"Pleasant . . . Gathering of neighbors?" questioned Mrs. Nourice withsome emotion. 

"Oh, I forgot, " deprecated the Master of the House with real concern. "Your Christmas season is not, of course, as inherently 'pleasant' asone might wish. . . . I was told at the railroad station how you and Mr. Nourice had been called away by the illness of a relative. "

"We were called away, " confided Mrs. Nourice with increasing asperity, "called away at considerable inconvenience--by a very sickrelative--to receive the present of a Piebald pony. "

"Oh, goody!" quickened Flame and collapsed again under the weight ofher Mother's glance. 

"And then came this terrible telephone message, " shuddered her Mother. "The implied dishonor of one of your Father's most trusted--mosttrusted associates!"

"I was right in the midst of such an interesting book, " deplored herFather. "And Uncle Wally wouldn't lend it. "

"So we borrowed Uncle Wally's new automobile and started right forhome!" explained her Mother. "It was at the Junction that we madeconnections with the Constable and his prisoner. "

"His--victim, " intercepted the Lay Reader coldly. 

At this interception everybody turned suddenly and looked at the LayReader. His mouth was twisted very slightly to one side. It gave him arather unpleasant snarling expression. If this expression had beenvocal instead of muscular it would have shocked his hearers. 

"Your Father had to go on board the train and identify him, " persistedFlame's Mother. "It was very distressing. . . . The Constable was mostunwilling to release him. Your Father had to use every kind of anargument. "

"Every . . . Kind, " mused her Father. "He doesn't even deny being in thehouse, " continued her Mother, "being in my closet, . . . Being caughtwith a--a--"

"With a silver carving knife and fork in his hand, " intercepted theLay Reader hastily. 

"Yet all the time he persists, " frowned Flame's Mother, "that there issome one in the world who can give a perfectly good explanation ifonly, --he won't even say 'he or she' but 'it', if only 'it' would. "

Something in the stricken expression of her daughter's face brought asudden flicker of suspicion to the Mother's eyes. 

"_You_ don't know anything about this, do you, Flame?" she demanded. "Is it remotely possible that after your promise to me, --your sacredpromise to me--?" The whole structure of the home, --of mutualconfidence, --of all the Future itself, crackled and toppled in hervoice. 

To the Lay Reader's face, and right _through_ the Lay Reader's face, to the face of the Master of the House, Flame's glance went homingwith an unaccountable impulse. 

With one elbow leaning casually on the mantle-piece, his narrowed eyesfaintly inscrutable, faintly smiling, it seemed suddenly to the youngMaster of the House that he had been waiting all his discouraged yearsfor just that glance. His heart gave the queerest jump. 

Flame's face turned suddenly very pink. 

Like a person in a dream, she turned back to her Mother. There was asmile on her face, but even the smile was the smile of a dreamingperson. 

"No--Mother, " she said, "I haven't seen Bertrand . . . To-day. "

"Why, you're looking right at him now!" protested her exasperatedMother. 

With a gentle murmur of dissent, Flame's Father stepped forward andlaid his arm across the young girl's shoulder. "She--she may belooking at him, " he said. "But I'm almost perfectly sure that shedoesn't . . . See him. "

"Why, whatever in the world do you mean?" demanded his wife. "Whateverin the world does anybody mean? If there was only another woman here!A mature . . . Sane woman! A----" With a flare of accusation she turnedfrom Flame to the Master of the House. "This Miss Flora that mydaughter spoke of, --where is she? I insist on seeing her! Pleasesummon her instantly!"

Crossing genially to the table the Master of the House reached downand dragged out the Bull Dog by the brindled scuff of her neck. Thescratch on her nose was still bleeding slightly. And one eye wasclosed. 

"This is--Miss Flora!" he said. 

Indignantly Flame's Mother glanced at the dog, and then from herdaughter's face to the face of the young man again. 

"And you call _that_--a lady?" she demanded. 

"N--not technically, " admitted the young man. 

For an instant a perfectly tense silence reigned. Then from under ashadowy basket the Cat crept out, shining, sinuous, with extendedpaw, and began to pat a sprig of holly cautiously along the floor. 

Yielding to the reaction Flame bent down suddenly and hugging the WolfHound's head to her breast buried her face in the soft, sweetshagginess. 

"Not sanitary, Mother?" she protested. "Why, they're as sanitaryas--as violets!"

As though dreaming he were late to church and had forgotten hisvestments, Flame's Father reached out nervously and draped a greatstring of ground-pine stole-like about his neck. 

"We all, " broke in the Master of the House quite irrelevantly, "seemto have experienced a slight twinge of irritability--the past fewminutes. Hunger, I've no doubt!. . . So suppose we all sit downtogether to this sumptuous--if somewhat chilled repast? After the soupcertainly, even after very cold soup, all explanations I'm sure willbe--cheerfully and satisfactorily exchanged. Miss--Flame I know has amost amusing story to tell and--"

"Oh, yes!" rallied Flame. "And it's almost all about being blindfoldedand sending poor Mr. Lorello--"

"So if by any chance, Mr. --Mr. Bertrand, " interrupted the Master ofthe House a bit abruptly, "you happen to have the carving knife andfork still on your person . . . I thought I saw a white stringhanging--"

"I have!" said the Lay Reader with his first real grin. 

With great formality the Master of the House drew back a chair andbowed Flame's Mother to it. 

Then suddenly the Red Setter lifted his sensitive nose in the air, andthe spotted Dalmatian bristled faintly across the ridge of his back. Through the whole room, it seemed, swept a curious cottony sense ofSomething-About-to-Happen! Was it that a sound hushed? Or that a hushdecided suddenly to be a sound?

With a little sharp catch of her breath Flame dashed to the window, and swung the sash upward! Where once had breathed the drab, dustysmell of frozen grass and mud quickened suddenly a curious metallicdampness like the smell of new pennies. 

"Mr. . . . Delcote!" she called. 

In an instant his slender form silhouetted darkly with hers in theopen window against the eternal mystery and majesty of a Christmasnight. 

"And _then_ the snow came!"

END