"Making such a time about it, you heathen!" retorted Polly, diving after a ball of golden-yellow wool; "you know perfectly well that all the fun of Christmas is in surprising people. I'd rather have a paper of pins, and have the fun of being astonished over it, than get the most elegant present in creation and know all about it beforehand." "That's all very fine, Poll; but I haven't been able to come near you girls for a month, without your all howling at me," objected Alan. "Now, of course I know you aren't doing all this for me, but you won't let me see anything. I'll start up some secrets, too; see if I don't!" "Poor boy, does he want to see?" said Katharine protectingly. "Well, I'll show you one thing, Alan, if you'll promise not to tease any more." "Depends on what 'tis," returned Alan grudgingly. "One is better than nothing, so go ahead." Katharine gathered up her work under the light shawl which lay across her shoulders, and went away out of the room. Presently she came back again, with a pile of something soft and red in her arms. "There now!" she said, shaking out the folds with conscious pride. "This is our grandest secret of all. It's a dressing-gown for Bridget, and we girls have cut and made it ourselves, every stitch. It's well made, too; you can look, if you know enough to judge." "We!" echoed Polly. "Katharine has done 'most all of the work." Alan eyed it critically. "I say, that's something worth having," he remarked. "I wish I was Miss O'Finnigan; I know that color would be becoming to me, and it's so soft and warm." And before the girls could guess his intention, he had slipped on the long, loose garment, and was parading up and down the room in it, with all the airs of a young peacock. "Tell me some more," he implored them; "tell me what you were doing when I came in." "Never!" said Jessie sternly. "You know more now than you deserve. You'll have to wait for the rest." "A whole week?" groaned Alan. "I never can stand it. Never you mind, though; I know one thing you don't, and I was going to tell you, and now I shan't. It's something awfully nice, too, and it's about Christmas." "Tell me, Alan," said Katharine. "You know I showed you this, so it's only fair you should let me be the one to hear your secret." "All right, Kit; I'll tell you for the sake of making the rest jealous." And Alan glared defiantly at the other girls, as he bent over and whispered a few words in Katharine's ear. "Really, Alan? What fun!" "Isn't it?" And they exchanged significant smiles. "Where's Jean, these days?" inquired Alan, a few minutes later, as he settled himself on the sofa, with his shoes on the pillow. "I haven't seen her for a coon's age." "Poor Jean!" said Polly. "She's having a hard time. Ever since her father had that fall, two weeks ago, Mrs. Dwight has been busy with taking care of him, and Jean has had to do all the work, and see to those four boys, besides." "That's hard luck," said Alan sympathetically.