Glenn Andrews felt something soft and slim between his fingers, but it puzzled him to know what the texture was. He was restless with curiosity. Esther enjoyed his perplexity with quiet amusement, and was sorry when after a great while her grandfather thought out for himself that young folks enjoyed themselves better alone. Glenn turned slyly to see him close the door after him. It was very interesting, this expectancy; he felt something as he did when a child he had lain awake all night waiting for Santa Claus to come. His heart would leap with impatience at every sound. The old chimney, drawing its heated breath to keep his little body warm, had added to his irritation. It seemed to him that the wind could cut more antics then than a circus pony cavorting for his feed. In its sound he constantly fancied he could hear the coming of that old false ideal that had been the first to fall, but it had not fallen until many a little prayer had been answered and many a young dream been realized. Such ideals leave their imprint upon the mind. The memory of the joy it gave softens and purifies the heart before it awakens. Glenn Andrews leaned over and opened his hand to the light; it was a watch chain, made of Esther’s hair. “That slide was on a chain my mother wore,” she said. The sentiment of it made him feel that he stood at the white sanctity of her soul with its opening and unfathomable depths. He raised the chain to his lips and kissed it affectionately. He could not have thanked her in words. He realized that: “Sentiment that is real is not acquired--it flows into the veins like the breath of the sea waves, completely freshening every sense with its presence.” Glenn took up his overcoat and brought out a music roll with her name mounted in silver. “It is full and you are to learn it all. That’s the agreement.” He laid it open before her. “The very hardest that you could find.” “Just what you need.” Esther hummed a bar here and there as she turned the pages. She was in an ecstasy of content. A lilting joyousness of Glenn Andrews’ presence was in everything she did and said. They lingered over the Christmas dinner. Mr. Campbell told yarns of the olden times when he was a boy on that holiday. He took his pleasure in their company at the table, and afterwards left them alone again. They made an exceptionably cozy picture, sitting together in front of the wood fire. It was beautiful to see the snow outside, falling in tiny siftings, displaced by the snow birds’ restless stirring. Glenn and Esther were so comfortable. How could it be winter out there. He smoked and she read him selections from his own poems--the ones she liked best. He had no idea she could read so well--it must have been her reading them that made them sound better than he had ever thought them before. There was a slow unfolding of her woman nature as he watched her. It was almost imperceptible, yet so much surer than a sudden burst.