Will and Nan were keeping the fun going at the other end of the table and were ably assisted by Charles and Henry Wallace, two polite but irrepressible lads who had been promised all the turkey they could eat if they would behave like gentlemen at Uncle Philip’s. Any resentment at reproof which they may have felt they were taking out in an excess of polite behaviour, especially to each other, with droll remarks which kept Cathalina convulsed with laughter most of the time. After the dinner came the tree. Hilary had helped decorate, but did not realize how like fairyland the place would look, with the candles lit and the little electric bulbs shining among the branches. No other lights were on in the room, that the big tree might stand out in all its glory. Some of the branches were frosted with a sparkling dust, and hung by invisible wires from above, a Christmas angel spread white wings. For a moment, every one was silent. Even little Charlotte drew a sigh of rapture. “Peace on earth,” murmured Aunt Katherine. Then Charlotte ran up to the tree. “I see my dollie!” she cried, lifting baby hands and arms to the big doll which she knew must be hers. “And here’s old Santa Claus!” said Ann Maria, calling Charlotte’s attention to young Philip, much padded, with long white beard and great fur overcoat. Exclamations of delight greeted the gifts, always especially nice at Aunt Sylvia’s; for she took the opportunity to remember generously a few of the young people not quite so abundantly provided for as Philip, and Cathalina, and, indeed, tried in every way to find out the real heart’s desire of each. Hilary found herself with an armful of presents, several books for which she had been longing, a dainty scarf which was one of the pretty things picked up on Sylvia’s last trip abroad, a flashlight, a traveling case, a dozen fine handkerchiefs, some stationery and candy. She turned to Mr. Van Buskirk and said earnestly, “O, how can I accept all these lovely presents when I’ve given next to nothing to you!” Philip Senior placed his hands lightly over her shoulders: “Hilary, child, you have done more already for my little girl in lessons of self-reliance and devotion to work than these baubles and trifles could ever do for you.” And Hilary was comforted. “Clear the floor for the Virginia reel!” called Philip. Methodist Hilary looked up startled. “Don’t worry, Hilary,” said the amused Cathalina, who was standing near. “It is not a real dance—that is, no more than the gym dances. This is a family custom,—once a year, and Sir Roger De Coverly, well, they prance around like this,” and Cathalina held one hand high as if reaching toward an imaginary partner, and minced about in a rhythmic walk.