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CHAPTER IX
FERN FALLS

Christmas would be on Wednesday, and it was arranged that Patty and Mona should go up to Fern Falls on Monday. Roger and Philip Van Reypen were to go up on Tuesday for the Christmas Eve celebration; and the rest of the house-party were already at the Kenerleys’.

The girls started off early in the afternoon, and a train ride of three hours brought them to the pretty little New England village of Fern Falls.

Jim Kenerley met them with a motor.

“We hoped for snow,” he said, as he cordially greeted the befurred young women who stepped off the train at the little station. “So much more Christmassy, you know. But, at any rate, we have cold, clear weather, and that’s something. Hop in, now. Adèle didn’t come to meet you,—sent all kinds of excuses, which I’ve forgotten, but she can tell you herself, when we reach the house. Here, I’ll sit between you, and keep you from shaking around and perhaps spilling out.”

Cheery Jim Kenerley bustled them into the tonneau, looked after their luggage, and then, taking his own place, drew up the fur robes snugly, and the chauffeur started off. It was a four-mile spin to the house, for the village itself was distant from the station, and the Kenerleys’ house a mile or so beyond.

It was cold, but the girls were warmly wrapped up and didn’t a bit mind the clear, frosty air, though in an open car. “Didn’t bring the limousine,” Mr. Kenerley rattled on. “Can’t abide to be shut up in a stuffy glass house, and then, you know, people who ride in glass houses mustn’t throw stones.”

“But, you see, we girls couldn’t hit anything if we did throw a stone,” said Patty. “At least, women have that reputation.”

“That’s so,” agreed Jim. “Can’t even hit the side of a barn, so they say. But I expect you girls that grow up with athletics and basket ball, and such things, put the old proverbs to rout.”

“How’s Daisy?” asked Mona. “Same as ever?”

“Yep; same as ever. Daisy’s all right, you know, if things go her way. But if not–”

“If not, she makes them go her way,” said Mona, and Jim laughed and agreed, “She sure does!”

At last they reached the house, which Jim informed them they had dubbed the Kenerley Kennel, for no particular reason, except that it sounded well.

“But you have dogs?” asked Patty, as they rolled up the driveway.

“Yes, but we didn’t exactly name it after them. Hello, here are the girls!”

Adèle and Daisy appeared in the doorway, and greeted the visitors in truly feminine fashion, which included much laughter and exclamation.

“Where do I come in?” said a laughing voice, and a big, laughing man left his seat by the fireplace and came toward them.

“This is my brother,” said Adèle, “by name, Mr. Harold Ferris,—but commonly called Chub.”

The name was not inapt, for Mr. Ferris showed a round, chubby face, with big, dancing black eyes and ringlets of dark hair clustered on his brow. Only his enormous size prevented his appearance being positively infantile, and his round, dimpled face was as good-natured as that of a laughing baby.

“And so you’re the two girls who are to spend Christmas with us,” he said, beaming down on them from his great height. “Well, you’ll do!”

He looked approvingly from Patty’s flower face to Mona’s glowing beauty, and truly it would have been hard to find two more attractive looking girls. The sudden transition from the cold out-of-doors to the warmth of the blazing fire had flushed their cheeks and brightened their eyes, and the hearty welcome they received brought smiles of delight to their faces.

“Now, come away with me,” said Adèle, “and get off your furs and wraps, and make yourselves pretty for tea.”

“Oh, I know what you’ll do,” said Chub, in an aggrieved tone. “You’ll just go upstairs and hob-nob and talk and gossip and chatter and babble, and never get down here again! I know girls! Why, first thing I know, you’ll be having your tea sent up there!”

“Great idea!” exclaimed Patty, twinkling her eyes at him. “Let’s do that, Adèle; kimono party, you know. We’ll see you at dinner time, Mr. Ferris.”

“Dinner time, nothing! If you’re not back here in fifteen minutes, the whole crowd of you, I’ll—I’ll–”

“Well, what will you do?” laughed Mona.

“Never you mind,—you’ll find out all too soon. Now, skip, and remember, tea will be served in just fifteen minutes.”

The girls had really no intention of not returning, and it was not much more than the allotted time before Patty and Mona were arrayed in soft, pretty house-dresses and reappeared in the great hall, where tea was already being placed for them.

The big fireplace had cosy seats on either side, and the crackling logs and flickering blaze made all the light that was needed save for a pair of tall cathedral candles in their antique standards.

“What a duck of a house!” exclaimed Patty, as she came down the broad staircase, her soft, rose-coloured chiffon gown shimmering in the firelight. She cuddled up in a corner near the fire, and Hal Ferris brought a cushion to put behind her.

“It ought to be a rose-coloured one,” he said, apologetically; “but I didn’t see one handy to grab, and really this old blue isn’t half bad for a background.”

“Much obliged for your kind colour-scheme,” said Patty, smiling at him, “and I’ll have one lump, please, and a bit of lemon.”

Big Mr. Ferris proved himself tactful as well as kind, for he divided his attentions impartially among the four ladies.

“A little shy of men; aren’t we, Adèle?” he said to his sister. “Even Jim seems to have disappeared. Not that I mind being the only pebble on the beach,—far from it,—but I’m afraid I can’t prove entertaining enough for four.”

“You’re doing nobly so far,” said Patty, cuddling into her cushion, for she loved luxurious warmth, like a kitten.

“Two more men are coming to dinner, girls,” said their hostess; “and to-morrow, you know, we’ll have two more house-party guests. Don’t worry, Chub, you shan’t be overworked, I promise you.”

After a pleasant tea hour, the girls went again to their rooms, ostensibly to rest before dinner, but really to have what Patty called a kimono party.

All in their pretty négligées, they gathered in Adèle’s room and talked as rapidly and interruptingly as any four girls can.

“Do you hear from Bill Farnsworth often?” asked Daisy of Patty, apropos of nothing but her own curiosity.

“Not often, Daisy,” returned Patty, of no mind to pursue the subject.

“But don’t you ever hear from him?” persisted the other.

“Oh, sometimes,” said Patty, carelessly. “He sent me flowers for my coming-out party.”

“I hear from Bill sometimes,” said Adèle. “I asked him to come to this party, but he couldn’t possibly leave just now. He’s awfully busy.”

“What’s he doing?” asked Mona.

“I don’t know exactly,” answered Adèle. “Jim can tell you, but it has something to do with prospecting of mines. Say, girls, do you want to see the baby before she’s put to bed?”

Of course they did, and they all trooped into the nursery to admire the tiny mite of humanity, who looked a picture, with her tumbled curls and her laughing face, just ready for bed.

She remembered Patty and Mona, and greeted them without shyness, clinging to Patty’s neck and begging her to stay and sing her to sleep.

This Patty would have done, but Adèle wouldn’t allow it, and ordered the girls back to their rooms to dress for dinner.

“Eight o’clock sharp,” she warned them, “and don’t put on your prettiest gowns; save those for to-morrow night.”

Patty wandered around her room, singing softly, as she dressed. Looking over her dinner gowns, she decided upon her second best, a white marquisette with a garniture of pearl beads and knots of pale blue velvet. When the maid came to assist her she was nearly dressed, and ten minutes before the dinner hour she was quite ready to go downstairs. “I may as well go on down,” she thought to herself. “I can explore the house a little.”

She looked in at Mona’s door as she passed, but as that young woman was just having her gown put over her head, she didn’t see Patty, and so Patty went on downstairs.

There was no one about, so she strolled through the various rooms, admiring the big, pleasant living-room, the cosy library, and then drifted back to the great hall, which was very large, even for a modern country house. It was wainscoted in dark wood, and contained many antique bits of furniture and some fine specimens of old armour and other curios. Jim Kenerley’s father had been rather a noted collector, and had left his treasures to his only son. They had chosen this house as being roomy and well-fitted for their belongings.

Patty came back to the great fireplace, and stood there, leaning her golden head against one of the massive uprights.

“Adèle told me you were a peach,” exclaimed a laughing voice, “but she didn’t half tell me how much of a one you are!”

Patty turned her head slowly, and looked at Mr. Hal Ferris.

“And I thought you were a mannerly boy!” she said, in a tone of grave reproach.

“I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed. “I do indeed! I’m almost a stranger to you, I know; I ought to have waited until I know you better to say anything of that sort to you! May I take it back, and then say it to you again after I do know you better?”

Patty couldn’t help smiling at his mock dismay.

“And how well shall I have to know you,” he went on, “before I can say it to you properly?”

“I can’t answer that question at once,” said Patty. “We’ll have to let our acquaintance proceed, and see–”

“And see how the cat jumps,” he suggested.

“Yes,” agreed Patty. “And, by the way, what a jumper that cat must be.”

“Small wonder, with everybody waiting to see how she jumps! Oh, pshaw! here comes a horde of people, and our pleasant tête-à-tête is spoiled!”

“Never mind; we’ll have another some time,” and Patty gave him a dimpled smile that quite completed the undoing of Mr. Harold Ferris.

The “horde” proved to be two young men from nearby country houses, Mr. Collins and Mr. Hoyt. And then the other members of the household appeared, and soon dinner was announced.

“We haven’t any especial guest of honour,” said Mrs. Kenerley, “for you’re all so very honourable. So pair off just as you like.”

Hal Ferris jumped a low chair and two footstools to reach Patty before any one else could. “Come in with me,” he said. “I know the way to the dining-room.”

“I’m glad to be shown,” said Patty. “You see, I’ve never been here before.”

“I know it; that’s why I’m being so kind to you. To-morrow I’ll take you up in the tower—it’s great.”

“Why, is this place a castle?”

“Not exactly, but it’s modelled after an old château. Really, it’s a most interesting house.”

“All right. To-morrow we’ll explore it thoroughly.”

And then they took their seats at the table, and as the party was small, conversation became general.

Suddenly Patty became aware that Mr. Collins, who sat on the other side of her, was trying to attract her attention. He was a mild-mannered young man, and he looked at her reproachfully.

“I’ve asked you a question three times, Miss Fairfield,” he said, “and you never even heard it.”

“Then you certainly can’t expect me to answer it, Mr. Collins,” and Patty laughed gaily. “Won’t you repeat it for me, please? I’ll promise to hear it this time.”

“I said, did you ever make a lemon pig?”

“A lemon pig! No, I never did. How do you make it?”

“Oh, they’re the maddest fun! I say, Mrs. Kenerley, mayn’t we have a lemon?”

“Certainly, Mr. Collins.”

“And, oh, I say, Mrs. Kenerley, if it isn’t too much trouble, mayn’t we have a box of matches, and two black pins, and a bit of paper?”

“And a colander and a tack hammer and a bar of soap?” asked Ferris, but Mr. Collins said, gravely: “No, we don’t want those.”

The articles he had asked for were soon provided, and in the slow, grave way in which he did everything, Mr. Collins began to make the strange animal of which he had spoken. The lemon formed the whole pig, with four matches for his legs, two black pins for his eyes, and a narrow strip of paper, first curled round a match, for his tail. It was neither artistic nor realistic, but it was an exceedingly comical pig, and soon it began to squeak in an astonishingly pig-like voice. Then a tap at the window was heard, and a farmer’s gruff voice shouted: “Have you my pig in there? My little Lemmy pig?”

“Yes,” responded Mr. Collins, “we have; and we mean to keep him, too.”

“I’ll have the law of ye,” shouted the farmer. “Me pig escaped from the sty, and I call upon ye to give him up!”

“We won’t do it!” shouted several of the men in chorus.

“Then, kape him!” returned the voice of the farmer, and they heard his heavy tramp as he strode away.

Patty looked puzzled. She couldn’t understand what it all meant, until Hal Ferris whispered, “It was only Collins; he’s a ventriloquist.”

“Oh,” said Patty, turning to Mr. Collins, delightedly, “was it really you? Oh, how do you do it? I’ve always wanted to hear a ventriloquist, and I never did before.”

“Oh, yes, you did!” said a voice from the other end of the table, and Patty looked up, saying earnestly, “No, I didn’t!” when she realised that the accusation had really come from Mr. Collins.

“Oh, what fun!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Do some more!”

“I’d rather he wouldn’t,” said Adèle, and Patty looked at her in surprise. “Why not, Adèle?” she asked.

Everybody laughed, and Adèle said: “You’re too easily fooled, Patty. That was Mr. Collins speaking like me. He knows my voice so well he can imitate it.”

“He’d better stop it!” came in a deep growl from Jim Kenerley’s end of the table, and Patty was surprised at such a speech from her urbane host. Then she realised that that, too, was Mr. Collins speaking.

“I just love it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to know how to do it. Won’t you teach me?”

“You couldn’t learn,” said Mr. Collins, smiling at her.

And then Patty heard herself say: “I could so! I think you’re real mean!”

Her bewildered look changed to admiration at his wonderful imitation of her voice, and the natural, petulant tone of the remark.

“It’s too wonderful!” she said. “Some other time, Mr. Collins, after dinner, maybe, will you teach me just a little about it?”

“I’ll try,” he said, kindly; “but I warn you, Miss Fairfield, it isn’t easy to learn, unless one has a natural gift for it, and a peculiar throat formation.”

“Don’t teach her,” begged Daisy Dow. “She’ll be keeping us awake all night with her practising.”

It was like Daisy to say something unpleasant; but Patty only smiled at her, and said, “I’ll practise being an angel, and sing you to sleep, Daisy.”

“You sing like an angel without any practice,” said Mona, who was always irritated when Daisy was what Patty called snippy.

“Oh, do you sing, Miss Fairfield?” said Mr. Hoyt, from across the table. “You must join our Christmas choir, then. We’re going to have a glorious old carolling time to-morrow night.”

“I’ll be glad to,” replied Patty, “if I know your music.”

But after dinner, when they tried some of the music, they discovered that Patty could sing readily at sight, and she was gladly welcomed to the musical circle of Fern Falls.

“How long are you staying here?” asked Mr. Hoyt.

“A month, at least,” Adèle answered for Patty.

“Oh, no, not so long as that,” Patty protested. “A fortnight, at most.”

But Adèle only smiled, and said, “We’ll see about that, my dear.”

After a time, Hal Ferris came to Patty, and tried to draw her away from the group around the piano.

“You’re neglecting me shamefully,” he said; “and I’m the brother of your hostess! Guests should always be especially kind to the Brother of a Hostess.”

“What can I do for you?” asked Patty, smiling, as she walked out to the hall with him.

“Quit talking to the other people, and devote yourself to me,” was the prompt response.

“Do all your sister’s guests do that?”

“I don’t want ’em all to; I only want you to.”

“And what about my wants?”

“Yes; what about them? You want to talk to me, don’t you?”

His tone and smile were so roguishly eager that Patty felt a strong liking for this big, boyish chap.

“I’ll talk for ten minutes,” she said, “and then we’re going to dance, I believe.”

“Oh, and then they’ll all be after you! I say,” and he drew her toward a window, from where the moonlight could be plainly seen, “Let’s go out and skate. The ice is fine!”

“Skate! You must be crazy!”

“Yes; I supposed you’d say so! But to-morrow more people are coming, and I’ll never see anything of you. Say, how about this? Are you game to get up and go for an early morning skate, just with me, and not let anybody else know?”

“I’d like that!” and Patty’s eyes sparkled, for she dearly loved early morning fresh air. “Of course, we’ll tell Adèle.”

“Yes; so she’ll have some breakfast made for us. But nobody else. How about eight o’clock? Regular breakfast will be at nine-thirty.”

“Good! I’ll be ready at eight.”

“Meet me in the breakfast-room at eight, then. Do you know where it is? Just off the big dining-room.”

“What are you two hob-nobbing about?” asked Daisy, curiously, as she strolled over toward them.

“I’m just telling Miss Fairfield about the plan of the house,” said Ferris, innocently. “It’s well planned, isn’t it?”

“Very,” said Patty.

CHAPTER X
CHRISTMAS EVE

As Patty stepped out of her room into the hall the next morning, at eight o’clock, she found Hal Ferris already tiptoeing down the stairs. He put his finger to his lip with a great show of secrecy, which made Patty laugh.

“Why must we be so careful?” she whispered. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“No; but it’s so much more fun to pretend we are. Let’s pretend we’re on a mysterious mission, and if we are discovered we’re lost!”

So they crept downstairs silently, and reached the breakfast-room, without seeing any one except one or two of the maids, who were dusting about.

Patty had on a trim, short skirt of white cloth and a blouse of soft white silk. Over this she wore a scarlet coat, and her golden curls were tucked into a little scarlet skating cap with a saucy, wagging tassel.

But in the warm, cheery breakfast-room she threw off her coat and sat down at the table.

“I didn’t intend to eat anything,” she said; “but the coffee smells so good, I think I’ll have a cup of it, with a roll.” She smiled at the waitress, who stood ready to attend to her wishes, and Hal took a seat beside her, saying he would have some coffee also.

“We won’t eat our breakfast now, you know,” he went on; “but we’ll come back with raging appetites and eat anything we can find. I say, this is jolly cosy, having coffee here together like this! I s’pose you won’t come down every morning?”

“No, indeed,” and Patty laughed. “I don’t mind admitting I hate to get up early. I usually breakfast in my room and dawdle around until all hours.”

“Just like a girl!” said Hal, sniffing a little.

“Well, I am a girl,” retorted Patty.

“You sure are! Some girl, I should say! Well, now, Girl, if you’re ready, let’s start.”

He held Patty’s scarlet coat for her while she slipped in her arms.

Then he disappeared for a moment, and returned wearing a dark red sweater, which was very becoming to his athletic figure and broad shoulders.

“Come on, Girl,” he said, gathering up their skates, and off they started.

“It’s nearly half a mile to the lake. Are you good for that much walk?” Ferris asked, as they swung along at a brisk pace.

“Oh, yes, indeed, I like to walk; and I like to skate, but I like best of all to dance.”

“I should think you would,—you’re a ripping dancer. You know, to-night we’ll have ‘Sir Roger de Coverley’ and old-fashioned dances like that. You like them?”

“Yes, for a change; but I like the new ones best. Are we going to have any dressing up to-night? I do love dressing up.”

“Glad rags, do you mean?”

“No; I mean fancy costumes.”

“Oh, that. Well, old Jim’s going to be Santa Claus. I don’t think anybody else will wear uncivilised clothes.”

“But I want to. Can’t you and I rig up in something, just for fun?”

“Oh, I say! that would be fun. What can we be? Romeo and Juliet, or Jack and Jill?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Something more like Christmas, you know. Well, I’ll think it over through the day, and we’ll fix it up.”

Skating on the lake so early in the morning proved to be glorious exercise. The ice was perfect, and the crisp, clear air filled them with exhilaration.

Both were good skaters, and though they did not attempt fancy figures, they spent nearly an hour skating around the lake.

“That’s the best skate I ever had!” declared Hal, when they concluded to return home.

“It certainly was fine,” declared Patty, “and by the time we’ve walked back to the house, I shall be quite ready for some eggs and bacon.”

“And toast and marmalade,” supplemented Ferris.

“I wonder if Daisy will be down. Does she come down to breakfast usually?”

“Sometimes and sometimes not,” answered Ferris, carelessly. “She’s a law unto herself, is Daisy Dow.”

“You’ve known her a long time, haven’t you?”

“Just about all our lives. Used to go to school together, and we were always scrapping. Daisy’s a nice girl, and a pretty girl, but she sure has got a temper.”

“And a good thing to have sometimes. I often wish I had more.”

“Nonsense! you’re perfect just as you are.”

“Oh, what a pretty speech! If you’re going to talk like that, I shall take the longest way home.”

“I’d willingly agree to that, but I don’t believe you’re in need of further exercise just now. Come, own up you’re a little bit tired.”

“Hardly enough to call it tired, but if there is a short cut home let’s take it.”

“And what about the pretty speeches I’m to make to you?”

“Leave those till after breakfast. Or leave them till this evening and give them to me for a Christmas gift.”

“Under the mistletoe?” and Ferris looked mischievous.

“Certainly not,” said Patty, with great dignity. “I’m too grown-up for such foolishness as that!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ferris.

The appearance of the two runaways in the breakfast-room was greeted with shouts of surprise.

Adèle knew they had gone skating, but no one else did, and it was supposed they hadn’t yet come downstairs.

Patty’s glowing cheeks were almost as scarlet as her coat and cap, while Ferris was grinning with boyish enthusiasm.

“Top o’ the morning to you all,” he cried. “Me and Miss Fairfield, we’ve been skating for an hour.”

“On the lake?” cried Daisy, in surprise. “Why, you must have started before sunrise.”

“Oh, no, not that,” declared Patty, as, throwing off her wraps, she took a seat next to Adèle; “but long enough to get up a ravenous appetite. I hope the Kenerley larder is well stocked.”

“Why didn’t you let us all in on this game?” asked the host. “I think a morning skating party would be just about right.”

“All right,” said Patty. “We’ll have one any morning you say. I shall be here for a fortnight, and I’ll go any morning you like.”

“I won’t go,” declared Mona. “I hate skating, and I hate getting up early, so count me out.”

“I doubt if any one goes very soon,” said Adèle, “for I think there’s a storm coming. It looks bright out of doors, but it feels like snow in the air.”

“It does,” agreed her brother; “and I hope it will snow. I’d like a real good, old-fashioned snowstorm for Christmas.”

“Well, I hope it won’t begin before night,” said Adèle. “We’ve a lot to do to-day. I want you all to help me decorate the tree and fix the presents.”

“Of course we will,” said Patty. “But, if I may, I want to skip over to the village on an errand. Can some one take me over, Adèle, or must I walk?”

“I’ll go with you,” said Daisy, who was of no mind to be left out of Patty’s escapades, if she could help it.

“All right, Daisy, but you mustn’t tell what I buy, because it’s a secret.”

“Everything’s a secret at Christmas time,” said Mr. Kenerley; “but, Patty, you can have the small motor, and go over to the village any time you like.”

As there was room for them all, Daisy and Mona both accompanied Patty on her trip to the village, and Hal Ferris volunteered to drive the car. But when they reached the country shop, Patty laughingly refused to let any of the party go inside with her, saying that her purchases would be a Christmas secret.

She bought a great many yards of the material known as Turkey red, and also a whole piece of white illusion. Some gilt paper completed her list, and she ran back to the car, the shopkeeper following with her bundles. They attended to some errands for Adèle, and then whizzed back to the house just in time to see the Christmas tree being put into place.

“We’re going to have the tree at five o’clock,” said Adèle, “on account of baby May. It’s really for her, you know, and so I have it before dinner.”

“Fine!” declared Patty. “And where do we put our presents?”

“On these tables,” and Adèle pointed to several small stands already well heaped with tissue-papered parcels.

“Very well, I’ll get mine,” and Patty went flying up to her room. Mona followed, and the two girls returned laden with their bundles.

“What fascinating looking parcels,” said Adèle, as she helped to place them where they belonged. “Now, Patty, about the tree; would you have bayberry candles on it, or only the electric lights?”

“Oh, have the candles. They’re so nice and traditional, you know. Unless you’re afraid of fire.”

“No; all the decorations are fireproof. Jim would have them so. See, we’ve lots of this Niagara Falls stuff.”

Adèle referred to a decoration of spun glass, which was thrown all over the tree in cascades, looking almost like the foam of a waterfall. This would not burn, even if the flame of a candle were held to it.

“It’s perfectly beautiful!” exclaimed Patty. “I never saw anything like it before.”

They scattered it all over the tree, the men going up on step-ladders to reach the top branches.

The tree was set in the great, high-vaulted hall, and was a noble specimen of an evergreen. Hundreds of electric lights were fastened to its branches; and the thick bayberry candles were placed by means of holders that clasped the tree trunk, and so were held firmly and safe.

Adèle’s prognostications had been correct. For, soon after luncheon, it began to snow. Fine flakes at first, but with a steadiness that betokened a real snowstorm.

“I’m so glad,” exclaimed Patty, dancing about. “I do love a white Christmas. It won’t interfere with your guests, will it, Adèle?”

“No; if Mr. Van Reypen and Mr. Farrington get up from New York without having their trains blocked by snowdrifts, I imagine our Fern Falls people will be able to get here for the dinner and the dance.”

The two men arrived during the afternoon, and came in laden with parcels and looking almost like Santa Claus himself.

“Had to bring all this stuff with us,” explained Roger, “for fear of delays with expresses and things. Presents for everybody,—and then some. Where shall we put them?”

Adèle superintended the placing of the parcels, and the men threw off their overcoats, and they all gathered round the blazing fire in the hall.

“This is right down jolly!” declared Philip Van Reypen. “I haven’t had a real country Christmas since I was a boy. And this big fire and the tree and the snowstorm outside make it just perfect.”

“I ordered the snowstorm,” said Adèle. “I like to have any little thing that will give my guests pleasure.”

“Awfully good of you, Mrs. Kenerley,” said Philip. “I wanted to flatter myself that I brought it with me, but it seems not. Have you a hill anywhere near? Perhaps we can go coasting to-morrow.”

“Plenty of hills; but I don’t believe there’s a sled about the place—is there, Jim?”

“We’ll find some, somehow, if there’s any coasting. We may have to put one of the motor cars on runners and try that.”

“They had sleds at the country store. I saw them this morning,” said Patty. “And that reminds me I have a little work to do on a Christmas secret, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll run away.”

Patty ran away to the nursery, where Fräulein, the baby’s governess, was working away at the materials Patty had brought home that morning.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Patty, as she closed the door behind her. “You’ve caught my idea exactly, Fräulein. Now, I’ll try on mine, and then, afterward, we’ll call up Mr. Ferris to try on his.”

At five o’clock the sounding of a Chinese gong called everybody to come to the Christmas tree.

The grown people arrived first, as the principal part of the fun was to see the surprise and delight of baby May when she should see the tree.

“Let me sit by you, Patty,” said Philip Van Reypen, as they found a place on one of the fireside benches. “I’ve missed you awfully since you left New York.”

“Huh,” said Patty, “I’ve only been gone twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours seems like a lifetime when you’re not in New York.”

“Hush your foolishness; here comes the baby.”

The tree had been illuminated; the electric lights were shining and the candles twinkling, when little May came toddling into the hall. She was a dear baby, and her pretty hair lay in soft ringlets all over the little head. Her dainty white frock was short, and she wore little white socks and slippers. She came forward a few steps, and then spied the tree and stood stock still.

“What a booful!” she exclaimed, “oh, what a booful!”

Then she went up near the tree, sat down on the floor in front of it, clasped her little fat hands in her lap, and just stared at it.

“I yike to yook at it!” she said, turning to smile at Patty, in a friendly way. “It’s so booful!” she further explained.

“Don’t you want something off it?” asked Patty, who was now sitting on the floor beside the baby.

“Zes; all of ze fings. Zey is all for me! all for baby May!”

As a matter of fact, there were no gifts on the tree, only decorations and lights, but Patty took one or two little trinkets from the branches, and put them in the baby’s lap. “There,” she said. “How do you like those, baby May?”

“Booful, booful,” said the child, whose vocabulary seemed limited by reason of her excited delight.

And then a jingle, as of tiny sleighbells, was heard outside. The door flew open, and in came a personage whom May recognised at once.

“Santa Claus!” she cried. “Oh, Santa Claus!” And jumping up from the floor, she ran to meet him as fast as her little fat legs could carry her.