"God bless my soul," he admitted guiltily. "I do believe I have. You've been so quiet," he added accusingly, "curled up there by the fire that I must certainly have gotten lonesome. And I most always stick out my chin that way when I'm lonesome." Roger, by way of reparation, betook himself to the arm of the Doctor's chair. The Doctor's arm closed tight around him. A year ago this little adopted son of his had been very lame. It was the first Christmas in his life, indeed, that he had walked. "Out there," said the Doctor, "the winter twilight's been fighting the alder berries with purple spears. It's conquered everything in the garden and covered it up with misty velvet save the snow and the berries. But the twilight's using heavier spears now and likely it'll win. _I_ want the alder berries to win out, drat it! Their blaze is so bright and cheerful." Roger accepted the challenge to argument with enthusiasm. "_I_ want the twilight to win," he said. The Doctor looked slightly scandalized. "Oh, my, my, my, my!" he said. "I can't for the life of me understand any such gloomy preference as that. Bless me, if I can." "Why," crowed Roger jubilantly, "_I_ can, 'cause the more twilighty it gets, the more it's Christmas eve!" The Doctor regarded his small friend with admiration. "By George," he admitted, "I do believe you have me there--" but the Doctor's kindly eyes did not fire to the name of Christmas as Roger thought they ought. "Almost," he said, "I thought you were going to stick out your chin again. And you're not lonesome now 'cause I'm here an' pretty noisy." "Hum!" said the Doctor. "Man to man, now!" urged Roger suddenly. This was the accepted key to a confessional ceremony which required much politeness and ruthless honesty. "Well, Mr. Hildreth," began the Doctor formally. Roger's face fell. "I'm your adopted son," he hinted, "and you said that made my name same as yours." "Mr. Leslie!" corrected the Doctor, and Roger glowed. "Well, Mr. Leslie," went on the Doctor thoughtfully, "I'm chuck full of grievances. There's the rheumatism in my leg, for instance. That's no sort of thing to have at Christmas." "But that's better," said Roger. "You said so this morning. I 'spect you been thinkin' too much about it like you said I did when my leg was stiff." "Ahem! And I did hope somebody would come home for Christmas. I like a house full of romping youngsters--" Roger pointed an accusing finger. "Aunt Ellen says every blessed one of your children, an' your grand-children too, begged and begged you to come to the city for Christmas an'--an' you wouldn't go 'cause you're old-fashioned and like a country Christmas so much better--an'--an' because you'd promised to teach me to skate on the Deacon's pond an' take me sleighin'." "Dear me," said the Doctor helplessly, "for such a mite of a kiddy, you do seem remarkably well informed." "Man to man," reminded Roger inexorably and the Doctor aired his final grievance.