Mrs. Fairchild met them at the front door. "Don't waste a minute," said she, fairly dragging them inside. "Dinner's on the table. Your soup's getting cold. You can wash your hands in the downstairs lavatory, Jeanne--no time to go upstairs." "Mother's so excited that her hair's coming down," observed Roger, at the table. "And she's so mysterious that I shouldn't be a bit surprised if she had a young elephant or a full-grown horse hidden upstairs in the spare-room closet. Look at her eyes." "I feel," confessed Mrs. Fairchild, who had never looked prettier than she did at that moment, "as if I were jumping right out of my skin. _Did_ I eat my soup! Or did Mary take it away?" Roger roared. "Oh, Mumsey!" he said. "You're younger than I was at _three_. If you had _two_ girls to fix a tree for, you'd starve. You haven't touched your steak--what _is_ that noise? This house is full of strange sounds--as if Santa Claus were stuck fast in our chimney. Shall I--" Mrs. Fairchild hopped up, ran to the front hall, and slipped a record into the phonograph. A _noisy_ record and the machine wide open. "Why, Mumsey!" said Roger, as the clattering music filled the room, "I thought you hated that record." "I didn't look," said Mrs. Fairchild, "to see what it was; but I'll admit taking it from the noisy pile." A few moments later, Roger pushed his chair back. "Please excuse me," said he. "I don't like the dessert we're going to have tonight." "No, _please_ sit still," pleaded his mother, hastily. "Put on another record--that nice brass-band one on top of the pile--and then come back to your place." "I see," laughed Roger, "you're trying to drown the noises my giraffe is making upstairs." He obeyed, however, and presently everybody's tapioca pudding was eaten. "Now, good people," said Mrs. Fairchild, rising from her chair, "I'm going to slip into the parlor for one moment to switch on the lights and to make sure that--wait here, everybody, until I come for you." "Of all the kids," declared Roger, "my mother's the _kiddiest_ one." "It's my first _merry_ Christmas," said Jeanne. "_That's_ why. She's just excited over _me_ and my first tree." "_Now_ come," said Mrs. Fairchild, appearing in the parlor doorway. "You first, Jeanne." With Mrs. Fairchild's fingers over her eyes, Jeanne was propelled across the hall into the big, best room. "Now _look_!" said Mrs. Fairchild, stepping back. Jeanne looked. The tall tree was ablaze with electric lights and glittering ornaments. Captain Blossom stood at one side of it, and Barney at the other. Both were grinning broadly. Jeanne's dazzled eyes traveled from the top of the tree to the beaming faces beside it; and then to a point not very far above the floor, where the light shimmered upon three balls of reddish, carroty gold--and three pairs of bright, expectant eyes. "_Sammy_!" shrieked Jeanne, darting forward. "_Annie! Patsy_! Are you _real_? Oh, you darling babies!"