or
run him up."

"Well, how do you feel about him yourself?" veered her Father quite
irrelevantly.

"Oh, I like him--some," conceded Flame. In her bright cheeks suddenly
an even brighter color glowed. "I like him when he leaves out the
Litany," she said. "I've told him I like him when he leaves out the
Litany.--He's leaving it out more and more I notice.--Yes, I like him
very much."

"But this Aunt Minna business," veered back her Father suddenly. "What
_do_ you want to do? That's just the question. What _do_ you want to
do?"

"Yes, what do you want to do?" panted her Mother.

"I want to make a Christmas for myself!" said Flame. "Oh, of course, I
know perfectly well," she agreed, "that I could go to a dozen places
in the Parish and be cry-babied over for my presumable loneliness. And
probably I _should_ cry a little," she wavered, "towards the
dessert--when the plum pudding came in and it wasn't like
Mother's.--But if I made a Christmas of my own--" she rallied
instantly. "Everything about it would be brand-new and unassociated! I
tell you I _want_ to make a Christmas of my own! It's the chance of a
life-time! Even Father sees that it's the chance of a life-time!"

"Do you?" demanded his wife a bit pointedly.

"_Honk-honk!_" screamed the motor at the door.

"Oh, dear me, whatever in the world shall I do?" cried Flame's Mother.
"I'm almost distracted! I'm--"

"When in Doubt do as the Doubters do," suggested Flame's Father quite
genially. "Choose the most doubtful doubt on the docket and--Flame's got
a pretty level head," he interrupted himself very characteristically.

"No young girl has a level heart," asserted Flame's Mother. "I'm so
worried about the Lay Reader."

"Lay Reader?" murmured her Father. Already he had crossed the
threshold into the hall and was rummaging through an over-loaded hat
rack for his fur coat. "Why, yes," he called back, "I quite forgot to
ask. Just what kind of a Christmas is it, Flame, that you want to
make?" With unprecedented accuracy he turned at the moment to force
his wife's arms into the sleeves of her own fur coat.

Twice Flame rolled up her cuffs and rolled them down again before she
answered.

"I--I want to make a Surprise for Miss Flora," she confided.

"_Honk-honk!_" urged the automobile.

"For Miss Flora?" gasped her Mother.

"Miss Flora?" echoed her Father.

"Why, at the Rattle-Pane House, you know!" rallied Flame. "Don't you
remember that I called there thi