"Here's a dress-length of gray silk from Venice for mother," he said, tossing the shimmering bundle into her lap; "I want her to have it made up to wear at Sally's wedding. And here's lace for Sadie and Sally both--the bride and the bride-to-be. Nothing much for the rest of you"--and out came strings of corals and beads, handkerchiefs and photographs, silk stockings and filagree work, until the floor was strewn with pretty things. After all the presents were distributed, it was time to begin to get dinner, and to decorate the great table laid for sixteen. There was a turkey, of course, and a huge chicken pie as well, not to mention mince pies and squash pies and apple pies, a plum pudding and vanilla ice-cream; angel cakes and fruit cakes and chocolate cakes; coffee and cider and blackberry cordial; and after they had all eaten until they could not hold another mouthful, and had "rested up" a little, Sylvia played while they danced the Virginia Reel, Mr. Stevens leading off with Mrs. Gray, and Mr. Gray with Sadie. And finally they all gathered around the piano and sang the good old carols, until it was time for the Elliotts to go home, and for Ruth to carry the sleepy babies up to bed. Since early fall it had been Sylvia's custom to sit with the family for a time after the early supper was over, and the "dishes done up"; then she went to her own parlor, lighted her open fire, and sat down by herself to read or write letters. But she always left her door wide open, and it was understood that any one who wished to come to her was welcome. Austin was the last to start to bed on Christmas night, and seeing Sylvia still at her desk as he passed her room, he stopped and asked: "Is it too late, or are you too tired and busy to let me come in for a few minutes?" She glanced at the clock, smiling. "It isn't very late, I'm not a bit tired, and in a minute I shan't be too busy; I've been working over some stupid documents that I was bound to get through with to-night, but I'm all done now. Throw that rubbish into the fire for me, will you?" she continued, pointing to a pile of torn-up letters and printed matter, "and draw up two chairs in front of the fire. I'll join you in a minute." He obeyed, then stood watching her as she straightened out her silver desk fixtures, gravely putting everything in perfect order before she turned to him. "What a beau cavalier you have become," she said, smiling again, as he drew back to let her pass in front of him, and turned her chair to an angle at which the fire could not scorch her face; "what's become of the old Austin? I can't seem to find him at all!" "Oh, I left him in the woods the night of the fire, I hope," returned Austin, laughing, "while you were asleep. I'm sure neither you nor any one else wants him back."