ome of them
home," ventured Aunt Ellen, biting her lip courageously, whereupon the
old Doctor patted her shoulder gently with a cheery word of advice.

Now, there was something in the touch of the old Doctor's broad and
gentle hand that always soothed, wherefore Aunt Ellen presently wiped
her troublesome glasses again and bravely tried to smile, and the Doctor
making a vast and altogether cheerful to-do about turning the blazing
log, began a brisk description of his day. It had ended, professionally,
at a lonely little house in the heart of the forest, which Jarvis
Hildreth, dying but a scant year since, had bequeathed to his orphaned
children, Madge and Roger.

"And, Ellen," finished the Doctor, soberly, "there he sits by the
window, day by day, poor lame little lad!--staring away so wistfully at
the forest, and Madge, bless her brave young heart!--she bastes and
stitches and sews away, all the while weaving him wonderful yarns about
the pines and cedars to amuse him--all out of her pretty head, mind you!
A lame brother and a passion for books--" said the Doctor, shaking his
head, "a poor inheritance for the lass. They worry me a lot, Ellen, for
Madge looks thin and tired, and to-day--" the Doctor cleared his throat,
"I think she had been crying."

"Crying!" exclaimed Aunt Ellen, her kindly brown eyes warm with
sympathy. "Dear, dear!--And Christmas only three days off! Why, John,
dear, we must have them over here for Christmas. To be sure! And we'll
have a tree for little Roger and a Christmas masquerade and such a
wonderful Christmas altogether as he's never known before!" And Aunt
Ellen, with the all-embracing motherhood of her gentle heart aroused,
fell to planning a Christmas for Madge and Roger Hildreth that would
have gladdened the heart of the Christmas saint himself.

Face aglow, the old Doctor bent and patted his wife's wrinkled hand.

"Why, Ellen," he confessed, warmly, "it's the thing I most desired! Dear
me, it's a very strange thing indeed, my dear, how often we seem to
agree. I'll hitch old Billy to the sleigh and go straight after them now
while Annie's getting supper!" And at that instant one glance at Aunt
Ellen Leslie's fine old face, framed in the winter firelight which grew
brighter as the checkerboard window beside her slowly purpled, would
have revealed to the veriest tyro why the Doctor's patients liked best
to call her "Aunt" Ellen.

So, with a violent jingle of sleigh-bells, the Doctor pr