"And let you spend this first Christmas on your two legs in a _city_?"
he demanded. "Well, I guess not! No-sir-ee-bob! There!--the alder
berries have faded out and the garden's thick with twilight."
"And it's Christmas eve!" cried Roger, his black eyes shining with
delight.
"Speaking of Christmas," said the Doctor, sniffing luxuriously, "I feel
that I ought to slip out to the kitchen for a minute or so. I do smell
something tremendously Christmasy and spicy--"
Roger caught his breath. With a Christmas intrigue as surely in the air
as the smell of spice, here was dangerous ground.
"Aunt Ellen," he faltered, "Aunt Ellen said she couldn't pos'bly be
bothered with--with any men folks in the kitchen--not even me."
"Pooh!" rebelled the Doctor largely, "that's merely a ruse of hers to
protect the cookies. And what I'd like to know is just this--what's Aunt
Ellen doing in the kitchen anyway? Certainly old Annie's able to do the
Christmas fussing for three people. Aunt Ellen ought to be in here with
us. That was part of my lonesome grievance but I forgot to mention it."
Roger, shivering apprehensively, visioned suspicious stores of Christmas
delicacies--holly and evergreen--and a supper table set for _ten_! And
off somewhere among those purple spears of twilight old Asher, the hired
man, was waiting at the station with the big farm sleigh.
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