Christmas day dawned, clear and crisp and bracing, and The Savins was gay with Christmas wreaths, with holly and mistletoe boughs. The rooms were in their annual state of disorder, for Christmas gifts and Christmas jokes were piled on all the tables and chairs. Gifford Barrett had been included in the revel of the evening before, and now, at the Christmas dinner, he sat in the place of honor, next Mrs. McAlister. In all its history, The Savins had never held a merrier party, and Dr. McAlister's face was quite content as he glanced down one side of the table where Phebe, radiant but shamefaced, was trying to conceal something of her rapture under a show of severity, then down the other where Allyn's open content with life was matched by Cicely's brave courage in facing whatever the coming year might have in store for her. Then, as he looked past and beyond them all to his wife, he threw back his handsome, iron-grey head proudly. "It is a good Christmas," he said, in the sudden hush which fell upon the table; "a good Christmas and a merry one. Bess, we'll change the dear old toast, and say, Here's to our good health, and our family's and may we all live long--and prosper!" Theodora was in her usual seat beside her father. Now she leaned forward and laid her hand on his. "Selah!" she said devoutly. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's Phebe, Her Profession, by Anna Chapin Ray