Anthony's patients, warmly housed, were busy with Christmas work. Women who had always bought perfunctory Christmas presents, and to whom the holiday season had meant merely a weary round of shopping, bent eagerly over the bit of pottery or of weaving which was to carry a message of peace and good will. Men, whose gift-giving had lost all of its precious meanings, were carving quaint weather-vanes and toys with infinite pains, and reveling in their skill. Diana, moving from one to the other, encouraged and suggested. "I am so glad we worked out that mistletoe design for the pottery and the holly for the little white rugs," she said; "it makes the work so much more interesting." "It is you who makes the work interesting," said her adoring husband who was at her elbow. "Don't you ever wish for anything else? Wouldn't you like to be down South with Justin and Betty--with purple seas and cocoanut palms and tennis and golf and good times?" "I'd rather be here with you. Every time you come back from an important case or operation I feel as if you were a knight returning from battle--no woman can have that feeling when her husband isn't doing vital things--but I'll wait until I get home, Anthony, to tell you the rest of it--the whole of Harbor Light has its eyes on us." It was not curiosity which drew the eyes toward them. To these weary creatures, many of whom had lost their illusions, the romance of their beloved doctor had given new hope. Their belief in the happiness of another made their own chances of happiness seem less remote. It was late that night, however, before Diana could tell Anthony "the rest of it." He was delayed by a call to an outside case, and she sat up to wait for him. The snow had stopped, and as she stood at the window in her room looking out, Minot's flashed above the horizon, and the big light on the Point flamed against the darkness like a sun. The little twinkling fair weather lights of the summer were gone. Only these remained through the beating storms to send out their warnings to the ships. It was the great lights of the harbor which served humanity; it was great men like Anthony who served! Smiling a little, in the fulness of her content, she turned back into the fire-lighted room, and went to her piano. Anthony, coming up the stairs, spent and chilled, heard her singing: "The stormy evening closes now in vain, Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain, While here in sheltered house With fiery-painted walls, I hear the wind abroad, I hark the calling squalls-- 'Blow, blow,' I cry, 'you burst your cheeks in vain! Blow, blow,' I cry, 'my love is home again!'" On the threshold of this blessed sanctuary all of his weariness seemed to vanish; here he found rest and refreshment--here, at last, he had found fulfillment of all his dreams. The End * * * * * "_The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay_"