"And feel that way still, I suppose?" suggested Sam Burnett, cheerfully. "There's a whole lot of that feeling-it-necessary-to-fight, in the world. I've experienced it myself, at times." They talked about it for a few minutes, the younger men rather enjoying the details of the quarrel, as those may who are outside of an affair sufficiently far to see its inconsistencies and humours. But it was clearly a subject which gave pain to the older people, and Guy, perceiving this, was about to divert the talk into pleasanter channels when Nan gave a little cry. Her eyes were fixed upon the fire, as if she saw there something startling. "People! --Let's open the church--ourselves--and have a Christmas Day service there!" They stared at her for a moment, thinking her half dreaming. But her face was radiant with the light of an idea which was not an idle dream. Guy began to laugh. "And expect the rival factions to come flocking peaceably in, like lambs to the fold? I think I see them!" "Ignore the rival factions. Have a service for everybody. A real Christmas service, with holly, and ropes of greens, and a star, and music--and--a sermon," she ended, a little more doubtfully. "The sermon, by all means," quoth Sam Burnett. "Preach at 'em, when once you've caught 'em. They'll enjoy that. We all do." "But it's really a beautiful idea," said Margaret, her young face catching the glow from Nan's. "I don't see why it couldn't be carried out." "Of course you don't." Guy spoke decidedly. "If people were all like you there wouldn't be any quarrels. But unfortunately they are not. And when I think of the Tomlinsons and the Frasers and the Hills and the Pollocks, all going in at the same door for a Christmas Day service under that roof--well----" he gave a soft, long whistle-- "it rather strains my imagination. Not that they aren't all good people, you know. Oh, yes! If they weren't, they'd knock each other down in the street and have it over with--and a splendid thing it would be, too. But, I tell you, it strains my imagination to----" "Let it strain it. It's a good thing to exercise the imagination, now and then. That's the way changes come. I don't think the idea's such a bad one, myself." Sam Burnett spoke seriously, and Nan gave him a grateful glance. She was pretty sure of Sam's backing, in most reasonable things--and a substantial backing it was to have, too. "Who would conduct such a service?" Mrs. Fernald asked thoughtfully. "You couldn't get anybody out to church on Christmas morning," broke in Mr. Fernald, chuckling. "Every mother's daughter of 'em will be basting her Christmas turkey."