red berries that looked like cranberries for
the tree, or fastened threads to the tiny cakes that were for trimming
only, and sternly forbidden to eat.

A marvelous day that for Jimmy. Late in the afternoon the Portier, with
a collar on, had mounted the stairs and sheepishly presented him with a
pair of white mice in a wooden cage. Jimmy was thrilled. The cage was
on his knees all evening, and one of the mice was clearly ill of a cake
with pink icing. The Portier's gift was a stealthy one, while his wife
was having coffee with her cousin, the brushmaker. But the spirit Of
Christmas does strange things. That very evening, while the Portier was
roistering in a beer hall preparatory to the midnight mass, came the
Portier's wife, puffing from the stairs, and brought a puzzle book that
only the initiated could open, and when one succeeded at last there was
a picture of the Christ-Child within.

Young McLean came to call that evening--came to call and remained to
worship. It was the first time since Mrs. Boyer that a visitor had
come. McLean, interested with everything and palpably not shocked, was
a comforting caller. He seemed to Harmony, who had had bad moments since
the day of Mrs. Boyer's visit, to put the hallmark of respectability on
the household, to restore it to something it had lost or had never had.

She was quite unconscious of McLean's admiration. She and Anna put Jimmy
to bed. The tree candles were burned out; Peter was extinguishing
the dying remnants when Harmony came back. McLean was at the piano,
thrumming softly. Peter, turning round suddenly, surprised an expression
on the younger man's face that startled him.

For that one night Harmony had laid aside her mourning, and wore white,
soft white, tucked in at the neck, short-sleeved, trailing. Peter had
never seen her in white before.

It was Peter's way to sit back and listen: his steady eyes were always
alert, good-humored, but he talked very little. That night he was
unusually silent. He sat in the shadow away from the lamp and watched
the two at the piano: McLean playing a bit of this or that, the girl
bending over a string of her violin. Anna came in and sat down near him.

"The boy is quite fascinated," she whispered. "Watch his eyes!"

"He is a nice boy." This from Peter, as if he argued with himself.

"As men go!" This was a challenge Peter was usually quick to accept.
That night he only smiled. "It would be a good thing for her: his people