The snow had not been swept from the porch yet, as the elderly Portuguese, who did the numerous outdoor chores about the place, had not made his appearance at this hour. Fortunately the snow was powdery and dry, for Erica was far too excited to remember such practical things as rubber boots, and dashed across the white garden, arriving, bright-eyed and panting, at her aunt’s side door, just as Tommy, who had watched her approach, opened it to admit her. The boy put a finger to his lips, grinning, and jerked his head stairward. “Nobody else is awake yet, I guess,” he explained. “Come on in where the tree is, and I’ll light the fire.” “We picked two good trees yesterday,” Erica observed judicially, watching him light the paper under the kindling, and blow gently to keep the slender flame going. Then her eyes filled suddenly and quite unexpectedly, so that she turned to inspect the tree with great attention, until she had managed to wipe the tell-tale drops away with the back of her hand. It had come upon her with a force that brought a choking lump into her throat, how much they missed Lis at this familiar Christmas-morning ceremony. It had always been Lis who waked early enough to have the fire roaring hotly before Erica and her stocking appeared. Tommy, struggling with cold and awkward fingers to repair his forgetfulness, was all at once a pathetic figure. He fumbled so long about getting the fire burning that she wondered, unhappily, if perhaps he, too, were not trying to avoid her glance. She was sure of it a moment later, when he sat back on his heels, muttering under his breath something about smoke getting in his eyes. But neither of them spoke of what both were feeling, and a moment later they were seated on the carpeted floor before the hearth, their filled stockings on their laps, and opened and unopened packages strewn about them. But as swiftly as their fingers flew in unwrapping the presents, their unwonted mood of gravity slipped into the normal, joyous excitement of Christmas morning. At last, having examined everything and found it eminently satisfactory, they bundled the wrapping paper into the blaze, and sat contentedly silent for a while, munching sweets from the now empty stockings. “Christmas must be sort of—funny at sea,” Erica declared, finally, out of that unusual silence. “Yea-ah,” Tommy’s mouth was uncomfortably full for articulate speech. “Guess Lis’ll be thinking ‘bout us, right this minute.” He sighed. “Wish I could have gone, too, Rick.” Erica made a face. “And left me here high and dry by myself. No thank you.” Tommy grinned. “Oh, you’d have had Milly Thorne,” he consoled her wickedly.