he hearth-rug, "on your honor, have
you ever seen a prettier Christmas-tree? Good! There's Daddy!"

Patricia ran to open the front door. "Come and admire, Daddy," she
urged.

Dr. Kirby went with her to the library; in the center of the broad
square room stood the tree, its slender tip just escaping the ceiling.

"And I trimmed it nearly all myself!" Patricia explained, proudly. "Aunt
Julia had to go out. Maybe you don't think I've been busy to-day, Daddy!
I don't know but what it is a good thing that Christmas doesn't come
more than once a year."

"I should be bankrupt if it did," the doctor said, pulling one of
Custard's long ears. "An only daughter is rather an expensive luxury."

"As if I were anything more than a plain every-day necessity! And not
such an incapable after all, am I, Daddy?"

"Not when it comes to Christmas-trees."

"Daddy, see, it's beginning to snow!"

"We're going to have a white Christmas, all right," the doctor said;
then, as the telephone rang sharply, he went to answer it.

Patricia heard him give a sudden exclamation, ask one or two rapid
questions; then he hung up the receiver and came back to the library
door.

"Patricia," he said, "there has been a bad accident down at the
curve--the eastern express--they are bringing the injured up here to the
hotel. 'Phone your aunt for me; and remember, _you_ are not to
leave the house."

"O Daddy!" Patricia followed him into the office; but all he could tell
her was that it seemed to be a pretty bad affair, and that he was likely
to be away from home some hours.

"A sad Christmas eve for a good many, dear," he said, kissing her
good-by.

Patricia watched him, as he drove off a few moments later, through the
fast falling snow. Christmas eve--and down there at the curve! Patricia
choked back a sudden sob, as she went to telephone to her aunt, who was
down at the church, helping with the Christmas decorations.

Miss Kirby decided instantly to go right down to the hotel, where help
would be needed. And _she_ also warned Patricia that she was not to
leave home.

"But oh, I want to go, Custard!" the girl protested; "I know I could
help." She closed the library door; the sight of the Christmas-tree,
its gay ornaments glittering in the firelight, hurt her.

Patricia went to curl herself up on one of the sitting-room
window-seats. Jim had gone with her father; Sarah was down at the gate
talking over the accident with the maid from next door.