"Why did n't you give us a chance to celebrate last December?" "Nobody asked me about it." The Doctor spoke for the only time then. "I 'll make a mem of it," he said gayly, taking out his notebook and writing in it. And I saw through his every move--the dear man! "You might have given us the pleasure of remembering it," said Mrs. Macleod reproachfully. "Oh, I celebrated it in my own way--and for the first time in my life," I replied, treasuring in my heart that hour in the office with Mr. Ewart when he took my gift of service "gratis". "Might a common mortal, who has both eyes and ears and generally can see through a barn door if it is wide open, ask in what manner you celebrated that you escaped notice of every member of this household?" Jamie spoke ironically. "Jamie, I outwitted even you that time. Of course I 'll tell you: I made a gift to some one, which was a good deal more satisfactory than to receive one myself." "The deuce you did! Perhaps you 'll tell me what it was and who was the man? I was n't aware of any extra purchases in the village." "Not now." I spoke decidedly. "Let's talk about the camp. I can't wait for the spring. When can we go?" I asked Mr. Ewart. "Not before the first of July, but we can remain until into September." The words were commonplace enough; but the tone in which they were spoken belonged to another day, another hour, to that moment when he accepted my gift of service "gratis". He, at least, knew how I celebrated that third of December! Content, satisfied, I began to jest with Jamie. We made and enlarged upon the most ideal plans it ever befell mortals to make. The others listened to our chaffing and found amusement in it, for we tried to outdo each other in camp-hyperbole. The Doctor, Mr. Ewart and Cale, whose presence Mr. Ewart insisted upon having the entire evening, smoked in silence. I knew where the Doctor's thoughts were. I would have given a half-hour of that evening's enjoyment--at least I think I would--to have read Mr. Ewart's. Late, very late, Cale rose, put a chunk into the soapstone, and said good night. I followed him into the kitchen. I wanted to speak with him, for I saw something was out of gear. "What's the matter, Cale?" I whispered, as he fumbled about for the candle somewhere on the kitchen dresser. "Marcia," he whispered in turn, "I 've pretty nigh lied myself inter hell for you ter-night. On the way over ter the junction the Doctor put his probe inter what's 'twixt you an' me mighty deep; but I was a match fer him! An' then I come home jest ter hear you give yourself all away! What in thun--" "Sh, Cale! Somebody 's coming--" "Wal, a gal's 'bout the limit when--" I heard him say in a tone of utter disgust, and, laughing to myself, I ran up stairs. XXIII