Four Sundays passed without the appearance of Julian. Winthrop wondered. “Either,” he reflected, “they have had a quarrel or he is mighty sure of her. And it can’t be a quarrel, for she gets letters from him at least once a week. Perhaps he is too busy at his work to spare the time, although――――” Winthrop shook his head. He had known lovers who would have made the time. The rainy weather passed northward with its draggled skirts, and a spell of warm days ushered in the Christmas season. The garden smiled again in the sunlight, and a few of the roses opened new blooms. Winthrop took a trip to Jacksonville a week before Christmas, spent two days there, and purchased modest gifts for Miss India, Holly, and the Major. The former had flatteringly commissioned him to make a few purchases for her, and Winthrop, realizing that this showed a distinct advance in his siege of the little lady’s liking, spent many anxious moments in the performance of the task. When he returned he was graciously informed that he had purchased wisely and well. Christmas fell on Saturday that year and Julian put in an appearance Friday evening. Christmas morning they went to church and at two o’clock sat down to a dinner at which were present besides the family and Winthrop, Major Cass, Edith Bartram, and Mr. and Mrs. Burson. Burson kept the livery stable and was a tall, awkward, self-effacing man of fifty or thereabouts, who some twenty years before had in an unaccountable manner won the toast of the county for his bride. A measure of Mrs. Burson’s former beauty remained, but on the whole she was a faded, depressing little woman, worn out by a long struggle against poverty. The Major, who had been out in the country in the morning, arrived late and very dusty and went up to Winthrop’s room to wash before joining the others. When he came down and, after greeting the assembled party, tucked his napkin under his ample chin, he turned to Winthrop with twinkling eyes. “Mr. Winthrop, sir,” he said, “I came mighty near not getting out of your room again, sir. I saw that picture on your bureau and fell down and worshipped. Gad, sir, I don’t know when I’ve seen a more beautiful woman, outside of the present array! Yes, sir, I came mighty near staying right there and feasting my eyes instead of my body, sir. And a fine-looking boy, too, Mr. Winthrop. Your family, I reckon, sir?” “My wife and son,” answered Winthrop, gravely. The conversation had died abruptly and everyone was frankly attentive. “I envy you, sir, ’pon my word, I do!” said the Major emphatically, between spoonfuls of soup. “As handsome a woman and boy as ever I saw, sir. They are well, I trust, Mr. Winthrop?” “The boy died shortly after that portrait was taken,” responded Winthrop. There were murmurs of sympathy. “Dear, dear, dear,” said the Major, laying down his spoon and looking truly distressed. “I had no idea, Mr. Winthrop――――! You’ll pardon me, sir, for my――my unfortunate curiosity.”