He certainly had, for, as he spoke, Rose pulled down the mistletoe and threw it into the fire, while the boys jeered at the crestfallen Prince, and exalted quick-witted Rose to the skies. “What's the joke?” asked young Mac, waked out of a brown study by the laughter, in which the elders joined. But there was a regular shout when, the matter having been explained to him, Mac took a meditative stare at Rose through his goggles, and said in a philosophical tone, “Well, I don't think I should have minded much if she had done it.” That tickled the lads immensely, and nothing but the appearance of a slight refection would have induced them to stop chaffing the poor Worm, who could not see anything funny in the beautiful resignation he had shown on this trying occasion. Soon after this, the discovery of Jamie curled up in the sofa corner, as sound asleep as a dormouse, suggested the propriety of going home, and a general move was made. They were all standing about the hall lingering over the good-nights, when the sound of a voice softly singing “Sweet Home,” made them pause and listen. It was Phebe, poor little Phebe, who never had a home, never knew the love of father or mother, brother or sister; who stood all alone in the wide world, yet was not sad nor afraid, but took her bits of happiness gratefully, and sung over her work without a thought of discontent. I fancy the happy family standing there together remembered this and felt the beauty of it, for when the solitary voice came to the burden of its song, other voices took it up and finished it so sweetly, that the old house seemed to echo the word “Home” in the ears of both the orphan girls, who had just spent their first Christmas under its hospitable roof. Chapter 21--A Scare “Brother Alec, you surely don't mean to allow that child to go out such a bitter cold day as this,” said Mrs. Myra, looking into the study, where the Doctor sat reading his paper, one February morning. “Why not? If a delicate invalid like yourself can bear it, surely my hearty girl can, especially as she is dressed for cold weather,” answered Dr. Alec with provoking confidence. “But you have no idea how sharp the wind is. I am chilled to the very marrow of my bones,” answered Aunt Myra, chafing the end of her purple nose with her sombre glove. “I don't doubt it, ma'am, if you will wear crape and silk instead of fur and flannel. Rosy goes out in all weathers, and will be none the worse for an hour's brisk skating.” “Well, I warn you that you are trifling with the child's health, and depending too much on the seeming improvement she has made this year. She is a delicate creature for all that, and will drop away suddenly at the first serious attack, as her poor mother did,” croaked Aunt Myra, with a despondent wag of the big bonnet. “I'll risk it,” answered Dr. Alec, knitting his brows, as he always did when any allusion was made to that other Rose.