"It’s not so awfully different, though, mother, from your manner to her. Still, let’s see, how did the thing begin?" mused Jim. "She wrote that they’d all come out in July for a month, and you wrote back——" "I said the simple truth, James, that my kitchen was quite as hot in the country as hers in the city, in July." "It certainly was the simple truth, mother. Somewhat undecorated by a garnish of hospitality, though—eh?" "I had not accepted your aunt’s invitations to visit her in town in the winter." "You’d had ’em, though. Don’t unaccepted invitations count any?" Isabel Dent stirred in her chair. "She had visited me time and again without invitation." "How far back did all this happen? When I was in my cradle? I’ve forgotten." "It was seven years ago last July." "Seven years outlaws an unpaid account. Let’s start another. I’ll back you up if you’ll go over and offer to fix up that sock. If you do, the late unpleasantness will fix itself up. It’s just as easy as that. And—Uncle Steve wants it." "James," his mother’s tone was firm, "if your Aunt Clara comes to me I will not repulse her." "She won’t come. You said the last hard word." "James!" "All right," said Jim Dent with apparent resignation. "But even enemies declare a truce—on Christmas Eve." Then two small boys and four girls of various sizes romped into the corner after him and he went away with them. It was difficult to do otherwise, with all six twined about his arms and pulling lustily. "’_He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?_’" Stephen spoke the words thoughtfully. "Steve," said Samuel, with a flushing face, "it’s a mighty sight easier to love a God a fellow hasn’t seen than some men he has seen. Whatever the Almighty is He’s square. Sylvester isn’t." "Sam," said Stephen gently, yet with a quiet firmness which made Samuel look at him curiously, "are you absolutely certain Sylvester was not square? Admitting that his methods were peculiar, annoying, without seeming reason or justification, are you sure they were not square?" "I’m as confident he meant to deceive me as I sit here." "But do you _know_ it? Could you prove it in a court of law?" Samuel hesitated. That was a question not to be answered quite so easily. "I believe I could." "But you don’t _know_ you could?" "Great Cæsar, Steve, I’m not omnipotent. I don’t _know_ I could. But——" "Then there is a possibility—just a possibility—that you might be mistaken in your judgment of Sylvester." "If there is it’s so small that—" "The smaller it is the more danger of losing sight of it. Yet, if it exists——" Samuel rose abruptly. "See here, brother," he said with an effort to command his usual manner, "why not let well enough alone? I’ve treated Sylvester civilly here under your roof. What more can you ask? What’s the use of stirring up strife on Christmas Day?"