The folding doors were flung wide, and she was met by a flood of soft light from hundreds of lighted tapers. The spacious room was filled with the brilliance and fragrance of three giant fir-trees. One for the family, one for the servants and tenants, and a third for the ragged school. On long tables with spotless white cloths plate after plate was ranged, and beside them were parcels of warm petticoats, shoes, caps, comforters, and stockings, the knitting of which had occupied grandmamma's busy hands all through the spring and hot summer days. For the children, besides the useful garments and the sweets, were piles of cheap tops, for, as grandmamma said, "we all must be young once." In they poured by the opposite door with happy faces, and those of them who had threatened to storm the entrance a few minutes ago were the very ones who now sidled along the wall, too shy to approach the tables. They let themselves, at last, be brought forward one by one, and then eyed their property with sidelong glances as if they would have to steal it before it could be really their own. Hertha had so much to do in encouraging, explaining, and leading people to their plates, that she had no time to think of her own presents. Meanwhile the inmates of the steward's house, the two bailiffs, the brewer, and the accountant, had made their appearance and drawn near the family table. "A merry Christmas, my dear sirs," said grandmamma, struggling bravely with her tears. "My son is late. When he comes he will say more than I can." The long-legged brewer was full of apologies, what for, no one knew, and Schumann seemed ill at ease. Hertha drew him aside. "Honestly, Herr Schumann," she asked him, "do you think it possible that he has met with an accident?" "He may have," answered the good fellow; "he may have missed his way in the storm and driven into a ditch, or something of the kind. But say nought about it, little countess, or it will spoil the fun." "Then won't you take any steps?" she inquired, choking back her nervousness. Yes, certainly, after the distribution, he would send out a search party. And with that she was obliged to be content for the present. Grandmamma had a word of love and kindness for every one, in spite of her private distress. With quiet tenderness she stroked Hertha's cheek and led her to her table. Hertha saw a stack of books and the flash of something gold, but her eyes were too blind with unshed tears to see more. Johanna, with chastened smiles, did the honours to her charges. She drew them up in a line and bade them sing the two-part Christmas hymn, the practising of which for the last two months had resounded daily through the glades of the park.