It had been decided to have the gathering at the cottage, as the big sitting room and the bedroom adjoining would hold more people than Mrs. Morton's parlor, sitting room, and dining-room all three. Further, the parlor, being separated from the other rooms by a short hallway, was of use only for some little group who wished to be by themselves. Sherm and Chicken Little were busy all day trimming up the pictures and the windows with evergreen and bitter sweet berries, mixed with trailers from the Japanese honeysuckle, which still showed green underneath where it had escaped the hardest freezes. Marian flitted in occasionally with suggestions, but the two did most of the work alone. Chicken Little began by giving Sherm precise directions as to how he was to arrange each branch and spray, but, presently, he began to try little effects of his own so much more charming than hers, that she called Marian in to see. "You certainly have a knack for decoration, Sherm. I never dreamed you were artistic. Why didn't you tell us? That spray against the curtain is exquisite. Have you ever taken drawing lessons?" Marian was both surprised and interested to discover this unexpected talent in the self-contained lad. "No, I have never taken real drawing--I used to copy little geometrical designs at school along with the rest." "Well, you surely ought to have lessons. I shouldn't wonder if you had the making of an artist in you." Marian hurried back to her custards. Chicken Little went on tying evergreen into ropes, but Marian had put several new ideas into her head. "Do you want to be an artist, Sherm?" "No, I want to be an architect." "You never said anything about it before." "What's the use of talking? Doesn't look as if I would ever get the education to be one now." "Why, you can't tell. Even if your father can't send you, maybe you could work your own way--Mr. Clay has." Chicken Little looked troubled; Sherm's tone revealed a yearning she had not suspected. "Yes, I could work my way if I had the chance. I guess Father is never going to be well again and----" He paused for a moment as if it were hard to go on. "Even if he lives, I may have to keep at work to support the family. Mother never says anything, and Father never told me much about his business--I don't know how much we have, but I'm afraid there isn't a great deal left." There was a hopeless ring in his voice that hurt Chicken Little. She wanted to double up her fist and attack somebody or something in Sherm's behalf. "I think they--your mother ought to tell you." "Oh, Mother doesn't realize I am most grown--she--she doesn't think I amount to much I guess." The boy had been brooding; his manhood affronted because he had not been permitted to share in the family councils. "Don't feel that way--she doesn't mean to leave you out, Sherm. You know it's awfully hard to write things and you have been away most a year."