After a little while he got off his religious themes and was just good old jolly Jim, and then we had a fine time. For I confess that I felt a little strange with him when he talked religion. We made candy together—nut candy—and we popped corn, and got the supper, and played chess, and had prayers and went to bed. And the next two days were like unto this day. Only, of course, we had our Christmas feast. They insisted on cooking the turkey and all the other good things while I was there, so that took a good deal of work, as you may imagine. But it was great fun, too. The little cottage reeked with delicious odors, and it was charming to see with its new curtains and the walls all trimmed with bittersweet and holly, and the pine knots burning in the fireplace. Then, this morning, Semmy and I left. “Don’t forget us, Zalie, don’t forget us,” dear Ma McBirney said when I kissed her good-bye. “Never while life lasts, dear,” I told her. “Never while I have any brain to remember with.” “I’m grateful to you, Zalie,” Pa told me, shaking my hand till it ached. “You’ve given me comfort and peace, girl, and there ain’t a day or a night I don’t thank you.” “Pa,” said I, “it’s hard getting even with you and Ma, but I’m going to do it if I can.” Jim took me down to the station and told me he hoped to be a credit to me, and that he never forgot that he owed his education to me, and he hoped I wouldn’t become worldly. “Jim, you old silly,” I said to him, “I’m just as worldly as I can be. I simply love the old world.” “That, Zalie, is not what I mean, and you know it.” “Don’t lecture me, Jim,” I warned him, “or it will make me more and more frivolous. Just leave me alone and I’ll work out my own salvation.” But he said he would pray for me. He looked so dignified that I didn’t dare remind him of those little green snakes he used to put in my closet. There’s no doubt about it; Jim is getting ministerial already. Growing up is a queer thing, isn’t it, Carin? Little freckled Jim trying to make a foreign missionary out of me! To-morrow we shall have a great celebration at Mallowbanks. There are to be some “kin” present, of course, and we are to have a tree and a great dinner and in the evening a sing around the fire. I am to sing for them, alone, at grandmother’s request, and I have been rehearsing. I wish I had a voice like Annie Laurie, rich and full like a robin, or a thrush-like voice such as your mother has. I don’t think much of my voice, and I wish they wouldn’t ask me to sing. But I’ll do my best, and I have some lovely songs. Aunt Lorena plays my accompaniments. There, I hear the train coming!