And here in
his chair by another Yule-log he found Roger, staring wide-eyed at the
glittering tree with his thin little arms full of Christmas gifts. Near
him was Sister Madge whose black eyes, Ralph saw with approval, were
very soft and gentle, and beyond in the coffee-fragrant dining-room Aunt
Ellen and old Annie conspired together over a mammoth breakfast table
decked with holly.
"Oh, John, dear," Ralph heard his mother say as the Doctor came in,
"I've always said that Christmas is a mother's day. Wasn't the first
Christmas a mother's Christmas and the very first tree--a mother's
tree?" and then the Doctor's scandalized retort--"Now--now, now, see
here, Mother Ellen, it's a father's day, too, don't you forget that!"
And so on to the Christmas twilight through a day of romping youngsters
and blazing Yule-logs, of Christmas gifts and Christmas greetings--of a
haunting shame for Doctor Ralph at the memory of the wild Christmas he
had planned to spend with Griffin and Edwards.
With the coming of the broad shadows which lay among the stiff,
ice-fringed spruces like iris velvet, Doctor Ralph's nieces and nephews
went flying out to help old Asher feed the stock. By the quiet fire the
Doctor beckoned Ralph.
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