The lower flames vanished two and three at a time. Those higher up followed more slowly. At last but one flickering beacon at the top of the tree remained to defy all the boys' efforts. John's father watched in amusement, then gathered him up in his arms. "Now, hard!" And the last candle went out. Mrs. Fletcher suggested "Hot potatoes," and the minutes sped joyously past until the telephone rang. "Tell Perry to come home for supper," was the message. That youngster slipped on his overcoat sulkily. "Wish'd there wasn't any old telephones," he snapped as he opened the door. His departure was a signal for a lull in the festivities. Mrs. DuPree sent a servant over for Sid, and the other boys followed shortly, leaving the family to watch in the darkness beside the parlor grate. Mrs. Fletcher broke the silence. "It's been a beautiful Christmas," she said softly. "A beautiful Christmas." John nodded contentedly from his father's knee. Again, the only sound to be heard in the room was the soft whick-whicker of the burning coal as the flames licked the chimney breast, or the occasional rustle of falling ash. Suddenly footsteps pounded up on the porch and the bell rang loudly. John opened the door, and Silvey came panting into the hallway with skates in one eager hand. "Come on over to the lagoon with me," he shouted breathlessly. John looked at his mother. "How about your supper?" He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. Hadn't he eaten enough candy for a dozen suppers? "Please let me go, Mother," he concluded. "Please. It's Christmas!" There was no resisting such a plea. He flew upstairs to resurrect his last year's skates from the attic, and was back in a moment for his mittens and stocking cap. The door slammed as the two dogtrotted it down the street. At the corner, John slackened speed. "Are you sure there's skating, Bill?" he asked. Never, so far back as he could remember, had the ice been in condition for the sport by December. Silvey nodded emphatically. "Saw six fellows go by the house with skates on their shoulders. So I asked 'em." They left the park gravel path, now flanked on either side by leafless shrubbery, and struck out over the hard macadam of the road. As they reached the board walk leading to the warming house on the boat landing, John strained his eyes eagerly ahead. "There is, oh, there is," he cried as the long tile roof by the boat house came in sight. "I can see 'em."