Over on Glen Echo Avenue the holiday spirit was in evidence. The goat whose acquaintance Peggy had made on previous visits, had a piece of evergreen tied to one horn, and to a vivid imagination it might have seemed that he was trying to enact the role of one of Santa Clans’ reindeer. The faces of the children wore an expression of joyful anticipation which made Peggy a little anxious for fear that disappointment lay in wait for some of them. "I hope they’ll look as happy to-morrow," she said to Elaine with a sigh. "Dear! I wish I had baskets for every house instead of just one." None of the small Dunns were in evidence on the street, and Peggy and Elaine made their way down the rickety stairs which led to the front door, unannounced. But at the first knock the door flew open with a promptness which suggested that someone of the family had been stationed at the knob to act the part of door-keeper. At the sight of Peggy a cry arose. "Ma, it’s Jimmy’s lady, the pretty one." Peggy blushed rosily, at hearing herself thus heralded, and went on to the kitchen, her scarlet face under her green hat, looking not unlike an animated sprig of holly. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Dunn," she cried, "Merry Christmas, children." Mrs. Dunn who sat in a rocking-chair beside the stove, a woollen scarf tied around her head, seemed rather inclined to resent the tone of the greeting. "Thank you kindly, Miss I’m sure," she said. "Though breath is cheap and ’Merry Christmas’ ain’t a’going to fill nobody’s stommick." She cast a covetous eye upon the girls’ load, and Peggy set the basket of provisions on the table, smiling encouragingly. "I guess you’ll find something filling here, Mrs. Dunn," she said. "And plenty of good wishes go with it." "Don’t hardly look sizeable enough to hold a turkey," suggested Mrs. Dunn, eyeing the basket with disfavor. "No, there isn’t a turkey." "A chicken’s a long way from turkey," observed Mrs. Dunn, with an apparent effort to conceal her disappointment. "But I s’pose you could call it the next best thing. A real good-sized chicken now, with stuffin’--" "There isn’t a chicken either, Mrs. Dunn," said Peggy with firmness. "But there’s a nice roast of beef, and plenty of potatoes, and other vegetables, and a mince pie, and, O, yes, a tumbler of jelly." The lips of the little Dunns were all ajar as if to give visible evidence that their mouths were watering, as Peggy recited the menu of their Christmas dinner, but Mrs. Dunn, evidently feeling that she owed it to herself to regard the traditions of the day, underwent an evident struggle before she could bring herself to the point of magnanimity.