d, were shaped or decorated in keeping with the
occasion.

The Farrington household was conducted on a most elaborate plan, and
their dinners were usually very formal and conventional. But to-night was
an exception, and, save for the solemn butler and grave footmen,
everybody in the room was bubbling over with laughter and merriment.

"I'm not hungry any more," declared Bobby, after he had done full justice
to several courses; "let's hurry up, and have the tree."

"Wait, Bobs," advised Hester; "we haven't had the ice cream yet."

"Oh, that's so," said Bobby; "can't we have it now, mother, and skip
these flummerydiddles?"

He looked scornfully at the dainty salad that had just been placed before
him, but Mrs. Farrington only smiled, not caring to remind him of the
laws of table etiquette on a festive occasion.

"Have patience, Bobby, dear," she said; "the ice cream will come next;
and, too, you know the longer the dinner, the later you can sit up."

"That's so!" agreed Bobby. "My, but Christmas Eve is fun! Wish I could sit
up late every night."

"But it wouldn't be Christmas Eve every night," said Patty, smiling at
the chubby-faced boy.

"That's so! Neither no more it wouldn't! Well, I wish it was Christmas
Eve every night, then!"

"That's right," laughed Patty. "Make a good big wish while you're about
it."

Then the ice cream was served and of course it was in shapes of Christmas
trees, and Santa Clauses, and sprigs of holly, and Christmas bells, and
Patty's portion was a lovely spray of mistletoe bough.

"Ho, ho!" laughed Kenneth, seeing it across the table; "another good
chance lost! You know the penalty, Patty, if you're caught under the
mistletoe. But of course if you eat mistletoe, the charm fails."

"I'm willing it should," said Patty, as she took up her spoon. "I'm not
pining for a rustic swain to kiss me 'neath the mistletoe bough."

Patty looked very roguish and provoking as she said this, and Mr.
Farrington said, gallantly:

"Ah, no, perhaps not. But the swains are doing the pining, without
doubt."

Now Roger sat on the other side of Patty, and as his father finished
speaking, he said, apparently apropos of nothing:

"Mother, are these your Spode plates, or are they Cauldon ware?"

"They're Spode, Roger; why do you want to know? Are you suddenly becoming
interested in China?"

"Yes," he replied; "are you sure, mother, these are Spode?"

He lifted the handsome plate in front of him, and