Peggy unfolded the slip of paper willingly. She was proud of that attempt. "We could have a jolly Christmas though old Santa Claus should go. We could do without a turkey at a pinch. And to spare the cheerful holly and the festive mistletoe Would be rather in the nature of a cinch. There is only one thing needed, as you’ll readily agree, One essential that surpasses every other, For of all absurd endeavors, the most imbecile would be, Just to try to have Christmas without mother." "I’m going to have a Christmas ’thout my mover," Dorothy remarked unexpectedly, and Peggy read on rapidly to avoid arguing the point. "Though the chimney corner stockings should be limp on Christmas day, Though the postman on his rounds should fail to ring. Though of all our friends and neighbors there was not a one to say, ’Merry Christmas,’ or some other proper thing. Still I think we could be happy, meet the day with faces bright, Drawing just a little closer to each other. But there isn’t one among us who could keep his spirits light, If we had to spend a Christmas without mother. Dorothy had heard poetry enough by now. She moved about the room, keeping her plump hands tightly folded, in her effort to comply with Peggy’s caution not to touch. And Peggy, working busily at the construction of the Jack Horner pie, found Dorothy’s presence no drawback to her progress. As a matter of fact there is such a thing as hurrying till one is unable to accomplish anything. The distraction of Peggy’s thoughts by the artless questions and the refreshingly original observations of her small niece was helpful rather than hindering. Her tense nerves relaxed. She laughed out half a dozen times, as if Christmas preparations were a joyful matter instead of soul-straining, nerve-racking ordeal, through which one must pass in order to be worthy of the pleasures beyond. The Jack Horner pie was finished and tucked out of sight when someone ran up the stairs. "Peggy!" said a breathless voice, outside the door. "Peggy!" "O Ruth!" Peggy sprang up with hospitable intent, but Dorothy frowned. "We’re pretty busy," she said warningly, and in tones distinctly audible in the hall. Peggy threw the door ajar, disclosing her friend’s flushed face and heaving chest. "You should put on a coat, instead of running to keep warm," scolded Peggy. "I’m warm enough." Ruth made an impatient gesture. "Peggy, there’s another." "What, you don’t mean--" "Sh!" Ruth drew Peggy out into the hall. "Yes," she replied, nodding mysteriously. "It’s another letter from Maud." Peggy regarded the square envelope her friend held toward her, and frowned as she drew back. "I don’t want it. I shouldn’t have read the other if I’d understood." "Peggy, it’s the strangest thing I ever heard of. It’s just like the first." "Just like the first? I suppose you mean--"