"Such want of consideration," lamented grandmamma; "he must know that the people will go nearly mad at being kept waiting, he must know how they will want to see him, and yet he can't come home for once, even on Christmas Eve, but must needs go knocking about goodness knows where." Hertha was horrified at grandmamma, who always took his part, being so irate with him to-day, and that he should have at least one person to defend him she said-- "I met him in Münsterberg this morning. He had some business to do at the Prussian Crown." But grandmamma, growing still more wroth, exclaimed-- "Business indeed! Who transacts business on Christmas Eve?" Hertha pictured him hurrying through the snowy stormy night towards the domestic hearth, and saw him stuck fast in a snowdrift. Her heart was nearly bursting with anxiety and pity. How her sentiments had changed since early this morning, all because of a friendly word and a Christmassy smile. She glided, with the pocket-book under her apron, to a drawer, tossed Lizzie's photograph contemptuously into a corner, and put grandmamma's in its place. The clock struck seven. They were getting so excited now outside that they were nearly forcing the doors open, and still there was no sound of approaching sleigh-bells. "It can't be helped," said grandmamma, wiping away her tears; "we must celebrate Christmas without the master of the house." "We ought to be used to it," remarked Johanna, in her bitter way. Hertha almost hated her for saying it. "But don't you see," replied poor grandmamma, beginning to cry again, "how doubly painful and trying it is for me? Four Christmases he has been away in America and God knows where else, and now, when he has come home, he treats me like this." "Just wait another quarter of an hour," implored Hertha; "it's the bad weather, I am sure, that is keeping him away." And they waited, not a quarter, but half an hour, and then the Mamselle came in. "I can't manage the people any longer," she announced. "The children are crying, and the men say they'll go home." "Come!" said grandmamma, resolutely; "we must begin without him." The three who had decked the trees went to light them up, leaving the cousins alone. A breathless stillness reigned in the house. "Do you think," Elly asked, still playing with the fringe of the table-cloth, "that I shall have any anonymous presents?" Hertha shrugged her shoulders and disdained to reply. And then the bell rang. Hertha felt the same eager anxiety as in childhood as with trembling hands she gathered her presents together and took them to the salon.