Quincy had troubled his mother enough to know on what day Jonas was coming for his Christmas holidays. At first, knowledge of the day had sufficed. He had aimed his existence at that day. It had seemed a small enough target. But when the day came, Quincy realized his error. He learned of the vague, broad desert that a day can be. He felt the irony of implacable dimension when one’s heart strains toward a pin-point. He awoke in the morning with a bound of fear. What if Jonas was already there! He lay in bed and listened. No stirring. It was not too late. For Jonas always made a noise. And then, as a sense of gratitude came over him, it was dispelled at once by a succeeding sickish thought. His vacation did not begin until the morrow. He would, then, have to spend the morning--half of the day--out of sight and beyond watch. During that time, Jonas might walk in! The idea froze him. He thought of playing sick--just so sick as to be able to remain at home. He did not care even if it did mean doctoring him. His fervor laughed at castor-oil. Once more, a glow of satisfaction, such as one feels after a great invention. But this also, was short-lived. The mournful countenance of duty had thrust in at the door. The school, that morning, was giving a Christmas Exercise. He had his rôle in the festivities. There was to be a masque of the nations, assembled to wish America a happy new year. In this great ceremony, Quincy was to take the part of Mexico. Leggins, sombrero, tasseled vest and practice in rolling out “carramba” had gone toward the occasion. He could not shirk this austere duty. The vision of staying luxuriously at home, of waiting in the warm house for Jonas, had disappeared. And so, since he must run risks, he faced them. He jumped out of bed although it was a full hour before breakfast. He dressed and went downstairs. Perhaps Jonas might come in early--and he be there, alone, to greet him! He was disappointed. And then his mother appeared. “You down so early?” she asked, looking for something wrong. “Mama, when does Jonas come?” “Today.” She went toward the pantry to signal the cook. “Yes, Mama. But _when_ to-day?” Sarah looked at her little son as he stood there, all serious and expectant. “I don’t know. Don’t bother me. By suppertime, I guess,” and she went out. Breakfast went fast, since the threat of school was at its termination. And then, he and Adelaide were shuttled off in the brand-new limousine. Before he had gauged the event, he was on his feet. The thought of Jonas had lurked in a strategic corner of his consciousness. And it had gathered to it the energy which might have gone to stage-fright.