"No, thanks," said Marie Jean, settling her ruffled plumage with dignity. "Now," went on the irrepressible Theodore, "if good Kris Kringle will only hang a wig on the Christmas tree for Miss Billy,--nothing expensive or rich, of course, like her own hair was--but----" Involuntarily Miss Billy's hands flew up to her shorn locks, but John Thomas came sturdily to the defence. "Miss Billy's a heap prettier with her hair short like that, and curling all over her head in little rings. She wasn't half so pretty when it was long." "John Thomas," said Theodore, with a pitying stare, "it's my opinion that you would think Miss Billy handsome if she was as bald as a Chinese mandarin. It's a prominent symptom of the disease." John Thomas returned abruptly to his popcorn, and Miss Billy, in the absence of anything better, and with a flash of the old time fire in her eyes, threw a handful of popcorn at the tormentor. "Perhaps you would like to sample these cakes," said Margaret, standing floury and smiling in the doorway, with a plate in her hand. "Francis, it is less than six months ago that you and I sat in the mud of a side street in Cologne, while a rain of these lovely little cakes fell about our devoted heads. I little thought I should be making some for you at Christmas time." "We cannot foretell the future," said Theodore solemnly. "Next Christmas--who knows?--we may all be in 'der faderland,' honourable attachees of the household of the Count and Countess Lindsay. Miss Billy can be 'lady in waiting,' and hold up your sky-blue green pink train, Margaret,--and John Thomas can be Buttons at the front door----" "The last five months have certainly been an unexpected and pleasant experience for me," interrupted Francis. "But play time is over. I shall be off for New York Saturday." "To stay--forever?" appealed Miss Billy piteously. "Oh, Francis,--I can't spare you." There were tears in her eyes, and he took the small white hand between his own brown palms. "Not forever, Miss Billy," he said gently. "I hope to come back again,--many times; and some of the goodness, and brightness, and helpfulness of Cherry Street shall always be with me, wherever I am." "And I," said Margaret, with a little sigh, "shall return to Cologne next month; I, too, shall miss Cherry Street, but nothing shall sadden me now that Billy is well." "I have a lump in my throat as I dwell upon the inevitableness of human destiny," said Theodore. "But honestly, Lindsay, we shall miss you. As for you, Margaret, "Maid of _Col_-ogne, ere we part, Give, O give me back my heart." "You gave it to Marie Jean the night of the lawn social," rejoined Margaret promptly. "I didn't want it, you know,--it was so warm and sticky." "And I didn't know what to do with it, so I ate it," said Marie Jean, with a giggle. "I remember it was flavoured with peppermint." "Cannibal!" murmured Theodore,--and lapsed into injured silence.