“How do you know what they said?” “I heard.” “How?” “I heard.” “How did you hear?” “Through the key-hole!” Bobbert set his jaw and twisted a piece of the baby’s dress nervously. “And since when have you adopted that method of obtaining information, Robertson?” “I don’t care! I only did a moment! I don’t care if it is sneaky—I might just as well be sneaky if I’m not going to Annapolis! If I do anything at all, everybody says: ‘Oh dear! I’m afraid you’ll never be a lieutenant, after all. They never do so!’ And if I say I’m going to be one, they say, ‘I wouldn’t count on it, Bobbert,’ till I’m just sick and tired! Am I going to Annapolis? Am I? I don’t care about the old tree if I know that.” “My dear boy, how do I know? It will depend on—on—on circumstances,” he concluded weakly. Bobbert stamped his foot. His uncle slipped out of the room. In the library the tree was towering to completion. A gilt angel held ropes of pop-corn that straggled artistically downward; snowy, ribbon-bound packets dangled from the boughs; candles dotted the ends. Aunts and uncles chattered and laughed and quarrelled amicably, while Bobbert’s father and mother, bubbling over with delight and busyness and vague Christmas good feeling, ran about holding the same parcels, straightening the same red candle, pulling at the same rope of cranberries. “Isn’t it grand, Frank? This is really the best we’ve ever had. How are the children? Do they suspect anything?” “Nothing—nothing whatever,” he assured her. “Bobbert thinks the odor of hemlock and pop-corn is to be attributed to the window-boxes, and I have no doubt that he supposes you’re conducting a funeral down here. It’s so still and solemn.” “Oh, Frank, how absurd! Well, I suppose he does begin to suspect——” “My dear sister, your penetration does you credit. Bobbert is only nine, and he has only seen this performance nine times, so it would be odd if he should have any _exact_ idea of what you are all doing, but he probably has a dim——” “Now, Frank, you are tiresome. Of course he knows, but how can he know the size of it? He never saw one so big. And we never had so many candles—there are three boxes here. And look at this. What do you think Uncle Ritch. has sent him?” One of the aunts waved at him a set of red, blue and yellow balls attached by elastic cords to a brightly colored stick. “I suppose the dear old man thinks Bobbert is about two years old! Where have you put that Japanese juggler’s outfit, Kate? See, Frank, that beautiful French puzzle! It’s awfully interesting. I hope he’ll like it. More candy? The idea! The child would die! Where’s Father Robertson’s bird-book, dear? I sha’n’t dare let him take it alone; it’s too exquisite. See, Frank, there are two hundred and fifty colored plates. Isn’t it beautiful?” Bobbert’s uncle fell upon the book. “By George!” he said, “but that’s a beauty! Rather wasted on Bobbert, isn’t it? Doesn’t know an ostrich from a canary, does he?”