Erica ignored this flippancy, and returned to her contemplation of the fire. “I think Christmas at sea might be—rather beautiful, too,” she said, slowly, not looking around. “I love the ocean, Tom. I guess maybe it’s because I was born at sea that I’ve always sort of felt I belong to it. You know,” she added more briskly, “how Sun Li always addresses the presents he sends me home by father, ‘To my Honorable God-daughter, the little Sea Girl’—I love that for a name.” Tommy grunted. He privately thought it rather flowery and Oriental, but both Lis and he had been carefully respectful on the subject of Sun Li with Erica, ever since one memorable occasion when she had flashed into a towering rage at the age of five, over a bit of teasing on Tommy’s part, and, after flying at the twins like a small wild cat, scratching, biting, and kicking, had wound up with a burst of utterly heart-broken and most unwonted tears. It was the tears that had done more to prevent a repetition of the remarks she objected to, than the temper that had preceded them. About fifteen minutes later, Aunt Callie and the two visitors arrived downstairs, and Barbee Thorne went into such ecstasies over the trimmed tree and her stuffed stocking, that the moment’s attention was centered entirely about her. Aunt Callie, with her sister-in-law’s help, had hurriedly gotten together some additional gifts for her two new charges at the last minute, so there was a doll for Barbee—a discarded one of Erica’s childish days, redressed by Aunt Charity before she went to bed on Christmas Eve. The pair of new skates which were to have been Aunt Callie’s present to Erica she had given to Milly instead, and a little note, tucked into Erica’s stocking, explained the exchange, and substituted a string of rose coral beads which Milly Thorne could not have used with the sad little black dresses she was wearing. Erica was delighted with the corals, though she could not help a small pang of regret for the loss of those beautiful, shining ice skates. Her old pair were almost past sharpening, after years of hard use. It would have been easier if Milly had only appreciated the skates. She had thanked Mrs. Folger politely, but evinced no enthusiasm at the news, delivered eagerly by Tommy, that Erica and he would take her skating that afternoon on Long Pond. “I can’t do much skating myself, on account of my leg not being strong enough yet,” he explained. “But we’ll all go out there, and Rick and the Joys will look after you.” “I don’t know how to skate,” Milly said, in that fretful manner they had resented last evening. “You know, I’ve always lived in the city till now.” “Oh, we’ll teach you in no time,” Tommy offered, confidentially, though some of that first sparkle of friendly generosity had gone out of his tone under the dampening effect of her lack of responsiveness.