"And I think," Peggy continued wisely, "that going to see the Dunns is pretty likely to give one a thankful feeling. If it wasn’t anything but getting back where things were clean, it would be quite a merry Christmas all by itself. Besides, the other girls are up to their neck in work, and Elaine isn’t going to give any presents to speak of, so she can spare the time better than anybody else." When Elaine slipped through the opening in snow-covered hedge that afternoon, her appearance carried out the impression her voice had given in the brief conversation over the ’phone. She moved slowly, heavily, as if some unseen burden, resting on her young shoulders, claimed all her strength. Her face had the blankness of one whose thoughts are far away from her surroundings. When Peggy flung open the door to welcome her, the contrast between the two was almost painful, the one girl glowing, bubbling over with cheery vitality, the other wearily indifferent. The sight of the big basket waiting in the hall was successful in rousing Elaine from her apathy. "What, all that?" she cried. Peggy laughed. "One’s the Christmas dinner. And the other has toys for the children. O, you needn’t look so surprised. I haven’t been extravagant. I’ve only taken up a collection in a few families where there are children, and got a lot of play-things they were tired of. Dick and I worked like Trojans, mending up things. Dick’s a genius when it comes to glue and that sort of thing." Peggy pulled off the cover of the basket in her pride. "See those picture books! I made the covers of paste-board, with calico pasted over them. The insides were almost as good as new. Isabel’s doll has a new head from the ten cent store, and Estelle’s has a wig that belonged to another doll first. Francesca is too old for dolls, I suppose, so there’s a little bead necklace for her. And Jimmy and John--" Elaine interrupted. "Isn’t it funny that the girls should have such dressy names, and the boys such every-day ones?" "Mrs. Dunn names the girls, and Mr. Dunn the boys, that’s why. I’ve got a pocket-knife for Jimmy, and a Noah’s ark and things like that for the little boys. I guess it’ll seem like quite a Christmas to them, even if the toys are second hand." Each with a basket on her arm, the two started away toward Glen Echo Avenue. The day was crisp and cool, with a clear sky overhead, and snow, still white and sparkling, underfoot. There were holly wreaths in the windows of almost every house they passed, and something electric tingled in the air, as if the Christmas spirit had broken bounds, and escaping from happy hearts, had charged the very atmosphere. Unconsciously Elaine’s step quickened, her face brightened, and her voice, instead of reminding one of drooping flowers, was rather suggestive of bright crisp evergreen.