k went down that day. It hasn't come up yet," answered Mollie
brightly.

"I am afraid you are not alone in that experience," laughed Mr. Stuart.
"Am I right, Richard?" addressing Mr. Presby. Mr. Presby nodded
solemnly. "By the way, Ruth, the chauffeur will drive your car out in
the morning. I heard all about that last drive of yours from the people
of Brightwaters. I expect my little girl will break her neck and at the
same time her dad's heart one of these days."

"I am not afraid for the first, but I shouldn't like to be responsible
for the latter," answered Ruth soberly.

"To-night we won't think of serious subjects. We are to make it a real
holiday, eh, Richard?"

"That is our plan. We want the 'Automobile Girls' to enjoy themselves.
It makes us happy to see them so happy. I've never seen Olive more happy
than she is to-night."

Olive was radiant. She, like her girl guests, was dressed in white, with
a sprig of holly pinned to her waist. Faces were flushed, eyes
sparkling. They were a happy, joyous lot of young women. Olive stole
into the drawing room that at her direction the servants already had
cleared of rugs, moving the furniture to the sides of the room. The only
light there was from the blazing fireplace. Olive sat down at the piano.

"Come on, everybody!" she called, striking up a lively two-step.

The "Automobile Girls" ran for the drawing room. With them went the
older members of the party. Ruth grabbed her father and led him a giddy
dance. Bob Stevens claimed a dance with Bab. Mr. Presby's gouty foot
would not permit his joining in the frolic, so Bob very thoughtfully cut
short his dance with Barbara, dancing a few minutes with each of the
other girls. Thomas Warrington Presby was turning handsprings in a
corner of the room, and, being in the shadow, he was not disturbed in
his antics.

Soon after this Mrs. Presby appeared at the door.

"Children," she called. "You are invited to come to the dining room. I
do not think a second invitation will be necessary."

It was not. There was a grand rush for the dining room, followed by a
chorus of "ahs" and "ohs" as they caught sight of a real, old-fashioned
Christmas tree, all alight with candles, glittering with spangles,
many-hued balls and yards and yards of sparkling frosted fringe. At its
top and hovering over it, floated a cherub, supported by an invisible
wire suspended from the ceiling. At the base of the tree were the
presents. There seemed to