"I did feel so sorry for her, the other day," said Jessie, moving into the sofa corner to let Alan rest his yellow head in her lap. "I asked her what she was going to do Christmas, and she said, 'Nothing at all.' She laughed; she always does that, but she looked as sober as could be, and it did sound so forlorn." There was a silence throughout the group for a moment. "I say!" exclaimed Alan so suddenly that Jessie, who was bending over to part his hair into little squares, started violently. "Well?" inquired Molly, who was tranquilly rocking back and forth by the window. "I say, girls, let's give her a Christmas surprise." "Good, Alan!" And Jessie sprang up in an excited fashion that nearly dislocated the boy's neck. "This is the best plan yet. It's ever so much more fun than Bridget; and Jean is working so hard now, that she needs a little good time to make up for it. What shall we do?" "Oh, have some kind of a lark Christmas eve," answered Alan. "We can't do it Christmas day because--Well, I may as well tell the rest of you--mamma has just asked Polly and all the other Adamses to come here for dinner and the evening, so we can have our fun, all of us together." "Oh-h-h!" remarked Polly rapturously. "So you see," the boy went on; "whatever we do must come in on the night before; but I think we could manage it. Let's call mamma in, to take counsel." "Would Florence help us along, I wonder," said Jessie thoughtfully. "Yes, I know she will," Katharine responded quickly; "I'll answer for her. We'll have to work, girls, to get this done, with all our other plans; but I am sure we can do it." "Oh, dear! I've got to finish up my scrapbook for my hospital boys," sighed Polly; "and the corners peel up faster than I can stick them down." "I'll do it for you, Polly," Alan offered. "I can't sew, but I can stick beautifully." "That's so," said Molly, in an undertone to Polly. "He upset the mucilage bottle into the dictionary, the other day, and now we have to take a knife and pry, if we want to look up anything from I to Q." "Oh, Polly, I almost forgot to tell you," said Alan suddenly. "I was coming up past your house, just now, and saw Mr. Baxter going in at the gate. You'd better hurry home, and tell him something more about Job." Polly laughed at the memory. "He has called once since then," she said. "I don't see what has started his doing that, and he comes to see Aunt Jane, of all people. This time I was telling about, he went on in the queerest way about his children, as if he didn't care anything for them. I wish you could have heard him. He said that they had very peculiar dispositions, and his wife never did know how to bring them up. But go call your mother, there's a dear boy. I do want to plan about Jean."