"To the ruddy warmth of the Christmas log and the Christmas home
spirit--" he cried--"to the home-keeping hearts of the country-side!
Gentlemen--I give you--A Country home and a Country Christmas! May more
good folk come to know them!" And little John Leslie cried hoarsely--
"Hooray, grandpop, hooray for a Country Christmas!"
Carelessly alive to the merry spirit of the night, the jester presently
adjusted a flute which hung from his shoulder by a scarlet cord and
lazily piping a Christmas air, wandered to another room--to come
suddenly upon a forgotten playmate of his boyhood days.
"It--it can't be!" he reflected in startled interest. "It surely can't
be Madge Hildreth!"
But Madge Hildreth it surely was, spreading the satin folds of his
grandmother's crimson gown in mocking courtesy. Moreover it was not the
awkward, ragged elfish little gipsy who had tormented his debonair
boyhood with her shy ardent worship of himself and his daring exploits,
but instead a winsome vision of Christmas color and Christmas cheer,
holly-red of cheek, with flashes of scarlet holly in her night black
hair and eyes whose unfathomable dusk reflected no single hint of that
old, wild worship slumbering still in the girl's rebellious heart.
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