r of friendliness was not the only
disturbing factor in his Christmasing. Jimsy, plainly, was cherishing
expectations.

Conscious-driven, Abner Sawyer laid aside his paper.

[Illustration]

"James," he began primly, "I must take this occasion to inform you that
Mrs. Sawyer and I spend Christmas quietly--very quietly. We have never
had a Christmas tree, and personally I consider that holly is most
suitable and decorative where Nature planted it. Christmas," finished
Mr. Sawyer, slightly disconcerted by Jimsy's attentive stare, "Christmas
is merely a day and a dinner. Let the frivolous make of it an orgy of
sentimentality if they will."

Jimsy's face fell.

"Gee!" he said, "your Christmas ain't just an extra Sunday, is it?"

Shocked, Abner Sawyer glinted over the tops of his glasses.

"No," he said with an effort, "it--it is somewhat different."

"How's it different?"

"I"--the first citizen froze--"I hardly know."

[Illustration]

"What d'ye have that ye don't have Sundays?"

"I--I believe it's turkey," conceded Mr. Sawyer desperately, and feeling
his dignity hopelessly compromised by a dialogue of such pronounced
informality, returned to his paper.

"Gee!" said Jimsy, with a sigh of relief, "that's mos' enuff itself to
make a Christmas. Hain't never tasted turkey." He was silent a minute,
in which the clock ticked loudly. It was purple now beyond the
old-fashioned panes and the lamp seemed brighter. Jimsy's shrill young
voice broke the quiet, as it would, of course, be sure to do.

"Say," he said kindly, "don't you worry none about that there Christmas
tree an' no holly. We'll have a thump-walloper of a day, anyhow!"

It is conceivable that Abner Sawyer's experience with thump-wallopers
had been limited. There was something in the boy's words, however, that
brought his gaze over the top of his spectacles again and over his
paper. It was disconcerting to note that Jimsy still bristled with
faith and friendliness and cheerful expectation.

"My remark," he said coldly, "about the absence of a tree and holly was
a statement--not an apology."

"Don't get ye," admitted Jimsy. "Come again." And there was danger of a
mutual dead-lock of comprehension. Aunt Judith saved the day. Arriving
in the doorway with a flutter, she said that supper was ready and that
James had better wash his face and hands. And James, who was Jimsy,
meeting Aunt Judith's gentle eyes, turned scarlet, and stumbling to his
feet, he ste