"It's a carol!" And Jean strained her ears to listen, while the steps and the voices came nearer, and still nearer. "'Hark! Hark! About the gray old belfry tower Their gladsome notes resound, And carol through the moonlight hour, O'er snowy sward and glist'ning bower, The glory of the Lord, whose saving power On earth to-night was found.'" They were very near now, nearer than Jean realized, for, as the last line died away, the front door swung open and the singers appeared on the threshold, with rosy cheeks and shining eyes, exclaiming in a jovial chorus,-- "Merry Christmas, Jean!" And Jean stood in amazement, while Alan and Polly set down the great basket that they carried, and the six friends pulled off their coats and hats and prepared to spend a long evening. What need to linger over the unpacking of the great basket, to listen to the fun as the simple presents and absurd jokes came to light, one after another, while Jean now wiped away a tear or two over Katharine's dainty gift, now laughed convulsively over some ridiculous prank of Alan's plotting? And all the time, the chorus went on, now explaining, now joking, but always bringing to Jean the welcome assurance that her friends did not forget her even in her absence. It was a successful evening, they all said again and again, as they gathered at the door in the starlight; and Jean stood looking after them with happy eyes as they marched off through the snow, gaily singing the dear old carol,-- "'God rest ye, merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, the Saviour, Was born upon this day.'" That night when the Christ child came silently over the mountains and down into the sleeping town, he lingered beside their pillows, to whisper to Jean words of encouragement for the coming days of toil, to paint bright visions of the well-filled stockings which the boys were to find in the morning, and to bring to five girls and one young lad his thanks for their helping to do his work here upon the earth. And if the morning brought the merry Christmas to them all, to none it came more truly than to Jean as she watched the children's rapture over their lumpy, shapeless stockings, while she turned, again and again, to look over and caress her own generous share of gifts which the Christmas eve had brought her. CHAPTER XII. HALF A DOZEN COOKS.