Year for all of us--just a New Year of going without and scraping and
saving and economizing--ugh! What a life!"

"Life's mostly what we make it," said Mother, who had quietly joined the
circle. "After all, what we think we want doesn't always give the
greatest happiness. Suppose each of us tries to let this be the best
year we've ever had? Very little in the way of material wealth may come
to us, but the other kind of wealth is far better worth working for. I
think this hard time gives us the chance to show what we're made of.
During the fighting, the lads at the front went steadily through severe
privations, and the women at home worked in the same brave, cheery
fashion. Now the strain of the war is over, are we going to let all this
splendid spirit drop? Suppose we fight our own battles as we fought our
country's? Let me feel I've still got a family of soldiers to be proud
of."

"You're the Colonel, then, of the new corps," said Egbert, with an
affectionate bear-hug to the slight figure that was already making the
black fire break into a blaze. "You've pluck enough for the whole clan,
little Mother o' mine! You shall sound your slogan and lead the attack
on Fate till we get back to Rotherwood! There!"

"I'm aiming at higher things than Rotherwood, darling boy!" said his
mother gravely.

"_I_ know!" whispered Quenrede, squeezing the dear hand that reached out
and clasped her own. "I won't be a selfish beast any more. I won't
indeed. Economizing shall be my New Year's cross!"

"If we're going to count up crosses," proclaimed Athelstane humorously,
"the orphan's fine voice while I'm studying is mine!"

"But _she_ probably counts it her choicest blessing!" exclaimed Ingred.

And then the whole family broke out laughing, and Mother's little
lecture ended in fun. It made its impression upon individual members all
the same.

The six miles which separated the Saxons from Grovebury seemed to have
set up an effectual barrier between them and the old world in which they
had moved before. Many people who had been friendly in the Rotherwood
days did not trouble to come so far as Wynch-on-the-Wold to pay calls,
and the numerous invitations which had formerly been extended to the
young folks decreased this Christmas to very few.

First and foremost amongst these scanty festivities came Mrs. Desmond's
dance. It was a grown-up affair, and she had sent printed invitations to
Egbert, Athelstane and Quenrede. The latter, who o