Christmas morning found the General conscious. He was restless until Jean was brought to him. He had a feeling that she had saved him from Hilda. He wanted her where he could see her. "Don't leave me," he begged. She slipped away to eat her Christmas dinner with Derry and Emily and Margaret. It was an early dinner on account of the children. They ate in the big dining room, and after dinner there was a tree, with Ulrich Stoelle playing Father Christmas. It had come about quite naturally that he should be asked. It had been unthinkable that Derry could enter into the spirit of it, so Emily had ventured to suggest Ulrich. "He will make an ideal Santa Claus." But it developed that he was not to be Santa Claus at all. He was to be Father Christmas, with a wreath of mistletoe instead of a red cap. Teddy was intensely curious about the change. "But why isn't he Santa Claus?" he asked. "Well, Santa Claus was--made in Germany." "Oh!" "But now he has joined the Allies and changed his name." "Oh!" "And he wears mistletoe, because mistletoe is the Christmas bush, and red caps don't really mean anything, do they?" "No, but Mother--" "Yes?" "If Santa Claus has joined the Allies what will the little German children do?" _What indeed_? Jean had trimmed a little tree for the General, and the children carried it up to him carefully and sang a carol--having first arranged on his table, under the lamp, the purple camels, to create an atmosphere. "'We three kings of Orient are, Bearing gifts we traverse far Field and fountain, moor and mountain, Following yonder star--'" "Yonner 'tar," piped Margaret-Mary. "Yon-der-er ste-yar," trailed Teddy's falsetto. "'Oh, star of wonder, star of might, Star with royal beauty bright, Westward leading, still proceeding, Guide us to the perfect light--'" Twenty-four hours ago Hilda's book had lain where the purple camels now played their little part in the great Christmas drama. In the soul of the stricken old man on the bed entered something of the peace of the holy season. "Oh, 'tar of wonner--" "Ste-yar of wonder-er--" chimed the little voices. When the song was finished, Margaret-Mary made a little curtsey and Teddy made a manly bow, and then they took their purple camels and left the tree on the table with its one small candle burning. The General laid his left hand over Jean's--his right was useless--and said to Derry: "Your mother's jewels are my Christmas gift to her. No matter what happens, I want her to have them." The evening waned, and the General still held Jean's hand. Every bone in her body ached. Never before had she grown weary in the service of others. She told herself as she sat there that she had always been a sort of sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice sort of person. It was only fair that she should have her share of hardness.