sing, as he had known the
Bartletts' well from the time of his coming to the college, when every
one called him Professor or Doctor.

At the table Nan and Kirkwood did most of the talking, and now and then
they exchanged glances that expressed to Phil some new understanding
between them. It had never before been so clear to Phil how perfectly
sympathetic these two were. Her father was a clever man and Nan Bartlett
an unusually clever woman. At other times Phil would have delighted in
their sharp fencing; the snap and crackle of their dialogue; but her
heart ached to-day. She felt the presence of a specter at the table. She
heard that other voice with its new and thrilling accents, that
careless, light laugh with its gentle mockery. She was recalled from a
long reverie by a question from Rose.

"How did you find the gathering of the clans at Amzi's?"

"Just about as cheerful as usual," replied Phil colorlessly.

"Amzi's seat will be in the front row of the heavenly choir-loft,"
observed Nan. "What he has taken from those women has given him a clear
title to joys ineffable."

"Amy is not a mere man," said Phil; "he is a great soul."

She had spoken so earnestly that they all looked at her in surprise. If
she had referred to her uncle as a brick, or a grand old sport, or the
dearest old Indian on the reservation, they would have taken it as a
matter of course; but Phil was not quite herself to-day.

"Don't you feel well, Phil?" asked Nan, so pointedly referring to the
unwonted sobriety with which she had spoken of her uncle that they all
laughed.

"The aunts must have been unusually vexatious to-day. You're not quite
up to pitch, Phil. Too much candy has spoiled your appetite," remarked
her father.

"I guess my sweet tooth did betray me into indiscretions," she answered
with an effort at lightness; and added,

"The bon-bon and the caramel
Poor Phyllis did waylay;
And being only a weak mortal young thing to whom
Christmas comes but once a year
Is it surprising what befell?
For she knew not the sad word Nay."

"Oh, unutterable horrors! That's the worst you ever perpetrated!" cried
her father. "Just for that you shall eat another piece of mince pie."

"Nothing of the kind, Tom; we must not add to the sufferings of one
whose own rhymes are punishment enough," said Nan.

The two women looked at Phil more closely. She seemed preoccupied and
her contributions to their banter were perfunctory and spirit