But Jean turned away, and pressed her face against the nearest window pane, looking down at the sombre, frost-touched garden. There wasn’t one bit of peace in her heart, even while she fairly ached with the longing to be like the others. “You’re a coward, Jean Robbins, a deliberate coward,” she told herself. “You don’t like the country one bit. You love the city where everybody’s doing something, and it’s just a big race for all. You’re longing for everything you can’t have, and you’re afraid to face the winter up here. You might just as well tell yourself the truth. You hate to be poor.” There came a burst of laughter from the dining-room and Kit calling to her to hurry up. It appeared that Doris, the tender-hearted, had said pathetically when Mrs. Gorham, the “help,” brought in the great roast turkey: “Poor old General Putnam!” “That isn’t the General,” Billie called from his place. “The General ran away yesterday.” Now if Cousin Roxy prided herself on one thing more than another it was her flock of white turkeys led by the doughty General. All summer long the girls had looked upon him as a definite personality to be reckoned with. He was patriarchal in the way he managed his family. And it appeared that the General’s astuteness and sagacity had not deserted him when Ben had started after him to turn him into a savory sacrifice. “First off, he lit up in the apple trees,” Ben explained. “Then as soon as he saw I was high enough, off he flopped and made for the corn-crib. Just as I caught up with him there, he chose the wagon sheds and perched on the rafters, and when I’d almost got hold of his tail feathers, if he didn’t try the barn and all his wives and descendants after him, mind you. So I thought I’d let him roost till dark, and when I stole in after supper, the old codger had gone, bag and baggage. He’ll come back as soon as he knows our minds ain’t set on wishbones.” “Then who is this?” asked Kit interestedly, quite as if it were some personage who rested on the big willow pattern platter in state. “That is some unnamed patriot who dies for his country’s good,” said the Judge, solemnly. “Who says whitemeat and who says dark?” Jean was watching her father. Not since they had moved into the country had she seen him so cheerful and like himself. The Judge’s geniality was like a radiating glow, anyway, that included all in its circle, and Cousin Roxy was in her element, dishing out plenteous platefuls of Christmas dainties to all those nearest and dearest to her. Way down at the end of the table sat Joe, wide eyed and silent tongued. Christmas had never been like this that he knew of. Billie tried to engage him in conversation, boy fashion, a few times, but gave up the attempt. By the time he had finished his helping, Joe was far too full for utterance.