"Pine Street," said Beppo. "Skates not much use now, eh?" "Oh, he's just tryin' 'em," it was explained. "Well, good luck. Eat plenty of turkey, and come and see us again soon." They seemed hesitating about something, looking bashfully at each other and then at us. We all looked down at them benevolently. "You come too," muttered Beppo, and Ben put his hand into mine with a charming gesture. It was my turn to hesitate. Mac laughed. "Come on, old man," he said. "We'll both go." And we did. For two solid hours, oblivious of churchgoers, we slid down Pine Street and toiled up Pine Street, rejoicing in the keen air, the flying snow, and the delighted shouts of the youngsters. "Now come in and have some candy," said we. As we knocked the snow off our boots in the porch Bill came to the door looking pleasantly excited. "She's here!" she whispered, and we entered, struck suddenly dumb like children, took off our boots and went upstairs to the studio. Quite naturally, Mrs. Carville had stepped in to thank her neighbour for the little leather Renaissance purse we had made for her. She embarrassed us yet more by rising when we came in. My friend, a most courteous and punctilious gentleman, begged her to be seated. She was wearing her scarlet cloak, and her eloquent dusky features were illumined with conflicting emotions. "I did not know," she said as I was getting the box of candy. "I did not know that people could be so kind." "It is Christmas," explained my friend lightly. "And we always like to be jolly, you know. When is Mr. Carville due?" A swift shadow crossed her face and was gone. "How can I know?" she replied. "Perhaps next week, perhaps ... but I do not know." "I was just saying," said Bill hurriedly, "what a pity he couldn't have got in for Christmas." "Never," said Mrs. Carville, watching the children eating chocolates. "Never can he get in for Christmas. Every year it is the same since we are married. Always, always at sea."