on the tall shoulder, while a tear
hurried down and fitted itself invisibly into her dimple; then she ran
her fingers through his thick brown hair and patted his cheek.

"Dear boy!" she breathed, contentedly, but suddenly roused herself.
"Here I'm keeping you, and that dinner'll spoil! Wash your hands and
come down quick! Bonnie will have everything ready!"

Courtland first realized the deep, happy, spiritual life of the home
when he came down to the dining-room and Father Marshall bowed his head
to ask a blessing. Strange as it may seem, it was the first time in his
life that he had ever sat at a home table where a blessing was asked
upon the food. They had the custom in the seminary, of course, but it
was observed perfunctorily, the men taking it by turns. It had never
seemed the holy recognition of the Presence of the Master, as Father
Marshall made it seem.

There was Bonnie, like a daughter of the house, getting up for a second
pitcher of cream, running to the kitchen for more gravy. It was so ideal
that Courtland felt like throwing his napkin up in the air and
cheering.

It was all arranged by Mother Marshall that Bonnie and he should go to
the woods after dinner for greens and a Christmas tree. Bonnie looked at
Courtland almost apologetically, wondering if he were too tired for a
strenuous expedition like that.

No. Courtland was not tired. He had never been so rested in his life. He
felt like hugging Mother Marshall for getting up the plan, for he could
see Bonnie never would have proposed it, she was too shy. He donned a
pair of Stephen's old leather leggings and a sweater, shouldered the ax
quite as if he had ever carried one before, and they started.

He thought he never had seen anything quite so lovely as Bonnie in that
fuzzy little woolen cap, with the sunshine of her hair straying out and
the fine glow in her beautiful face. He knew he had never heard music
half so sweet as Bonnie's laugh as it rang through the woods when she
saw a squirrel sitting on a high limb scolding at their intrusion. He
never thought of Gila once the whole afternoon, nor even brought to mind
his lost ideals of womanhood.

They found a tree just to their liking. Bonnie had it all picked out
weeks beforehand, but she did not tell him so, and he thought he had
discovered it for himself. They cut masses of laurel, and ground-pine,
and strung them on twine. They dragged the tree and greens home through
the snow, laughing and s