the violets on your grave," Gertrude finished for her.

Christmas that year fell on a Monday, and Eleanor did not leave school
till the Friday before the great day. Owing to the exigencies of the
holiday season none of her guardians came to see her before the dinner
party itself. Even David was busy with his mother--installed now for a
few weeks in the hotel suite that would be her home until the opening
of the season at Palm Beach--and had only a few hurried words with
her. Mademoiselle, whom he had imported for the occasion, met her at
the station and helped her to do her modest shopping which consisted
chiefly of gifts for her beloved aunts and uncles. She had arranged
these things lovingly at their plates, and fled to dress when they
began to assemble for the celebration. The girls were the first
arrivals. Then Peter.

"How's our child, David?" Gertrude asked. "I had a few minutes' talk
with her over the telephone and she seemed to be flourishing."

"She is," David answered. "She's grown several feet since we last saw
her. They've been giving scenes from Shakespeare at school and she's
been playing Juliet, it appears. She has had a fight with another girl
about suffrage--I don't know which side she was on, Beulah, I am
merely giving you the facts as they came to me--and the other girl was
so unpleasant about it that she has been visited by just retribution
in the form of the mumps, and had to be sent home and quarantined."

"Sounds a bit priggish," Peter suggested.

"Not really," David said, "she's as sound as a nut. She's only going
through the different stages."

"To pass deliberately through one's ages," Beulah quoted, "is to get
the heart out of a liberal education."

"Bravo, Beulah," Gertrude cried, "you're quite in your old form
to-night."

"Is she just the same little girl, David?" Margaret asked.

"Just the same. She really seems younger than ever. I don't know why
she doesn't come down. There she is, I guess. No, it's only Alphonse
letting in Jimmie."

Jimmie, whose spirits seemed to have revived under the holiday
influence, was staggering under the weight of his parcels. The
Christmas presents had already accumulated to a considerable mound on
the couch. Margaret was brooding over them and trying not to look
greedy. She was still very much of a child herself in relation to
Santa Claus.

"Merry Christmas!" Jimmie cried. "Where's my child?"

"Coming," David said.

"Look at the candy kids. M