evasively, "I don't think there is any mainly, unless it is that when
I had such a good chance to be a hermit, I couldn't remember all those
wonderful Mahatma practices that make one so good and so wise. The
only formulas I have really tried hard to recall are for cooking
without sugar, or spice, or fruit."

VI

Heap on more wood!--the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it
will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

SCOTT.

It was Christmas Eve, and the night being in a reminiscent mood, was
chillier than usual. Adam piled up the logs till the whole room was
full of the warm glow. "Let us hang up our stockings," he said, with
an attempt at gayety.

Robin spread out her hands with a gesture of comic distress. "If only
I had a pair to hang!" she said. "But they gave boxes in England,
didn't they? I noticed that the rain the other day seemed to have come
through the shed roof, and I fear the contents of those packing cases
may be the worse for it, especially if they happen to be sugar. Do you
think it would do to make ourselves presents of them? If you do,
please give me the smaller box; I am sure it has hair-pins and needles
and darning-cotton in it."

Adam laughed. "We will give them to each other," he said, "and perhaps
you'll find some stockings in your box, if there is no box in your
stockings. We can dream of their contents all night, and--who
knows?--we may have a merry Christmas, after all."

Robin hardly knew the place next morning. Adam had risen early and
decked every available spot with kinnikinnick until the room fairly
glistened. "I wish I knew how to thank him," she said.

"Do you like it?" he said, as he came in. "I was afraid I should waken
you putting it up."

"Like it!" she answered, "Why, Adam, it is beautiful. You are just an
ideal Santa Claus."

When they had finished their breakfast they went out and looked at the
boxes.

"You must open yours first," she said; "it's so big I know it doesn't
contain anything nice, so we would better save mine till the last, and
then I can divide with you. What do you think it is? You shall have
three guesses."

"It might be a piano from its size," he ventured.

"No," she said decidedly. "It's not the right shape."

"Or perhaps it's a feather-bed; I don't know of anything I want less."

"It's too large for that; now guess, really."

"As a matter of fact, I expect it is mining machinery, which will be
about as much use as