"Syl’s tumble did it. It made the mix-up we were looking for. Not exactly as we would have planned it, but rather more effectively, I should say." "Stephen," said Mrs. Clara, moving the cards about in an absent sort of way, "Stephen and Jim, I want to tell you that—well—Isabel and I——" "Yes," helped Stephen eagerly. "Good for you!" encouraged her nephew. "We couldn’t seem to keep it up—not here—on Christmas Day—after Syl——" Tears were suddenly threatening the holly cards. Mrs. Clara rose quickly. "I think they’re all right now, Stephen," she said, indicating the cards and clearing her eyes with a touch of a lace-bordered handkerchief. "I’ve put Sam and Syl at the far ends of the table." "I want them near together." "But—had you better?" "I’m going to risk it." "Risk it, Uncle Steve," advised Jim. "Everybody’s taking chances to-day." "But—Sam and Sylvester!" persisted Clara doubtfully. "It’s Christmas Day with them, too," argued Jim. Mrs. Clara went out with the cards and laid them down at the proper places. She had arranged them as nearly as possible in approved dinner style, a man next a woman, then a boy, then a girl, then another man, another woman, and so on. When she had gone Jim sneaked out and scrutinized this arrangement. Laughing to himself he picked up the cards and juggled with them. About his uncle Stephen he grouped the cards of his three brothers and their wives. At the other end of the table he put all the children together. "There, that’s better," said Jim with conviction, to himself. Mrs. Griggs announced dinner. Jim Dent brought Uncle Stephen out first in his wheel-chair and placed him at the head of the table. Then came the rest, Samuel Kingsley carrying his son Syl, looking very hero-like indeed, with his bandaged head and his arm in a sling. All the children’s eyes were riveted fascinatedly on Syl as he was placed in a special easy chair at the foot of the table, where nobody could possibly by any chance hit the injured arm. On one side of Mr. Stephen Kingsley, Mrs. Samuel found her place; on the other side, Mrs. Sylvester. Sylvester was next Mrs. Sam, Sam beyond Mrs. Syl. How he dared, every one wondered, thinking it Uncle Stephen’s plan. Uncle Stephen himself turned a little pale as he saw them standing behind their chairs. Only Jim Dent, whose wide-awake eyes had been seeing things all day, felt at all cool about it. And even he was not quite as cool as he looked. There was a moment’s hushed silence before they sat down, even the children fluttering into quiet. Then, just as everybody laid hands on chairback, Samuel Kingsley spoke. "Steve," he said, looking at his brother, "I want to make a little speech." Everybody was at attention. Stephen Kingsley looked up, wondering. He smiled at his brother, but his heart was making riot in his feeble breast. What was Sam going to do?