Budge's tone had
softened. She _had_ not made a Christmas cake (at sixteen Hannah Budge
had taken the prize at the County Agricultural Exhibit for the finest
decorated cake, and she had never forgotten it) since Master Christopher
the Third had left them. And she _had_ enjoyed hearing young voices and
eager steps in the old house and had caught herself that very morning,
as she helped Chloe stuff the turkey, singing:
"Oh, com-m-me let 'tus a-dor-r-re Him."
Chloe's last delectable dish for the dinner eaten, Harkness drew back
the folding doors to reveal the Christmas tree in the conservatory. And
Robin, waiting for Mrs. Lynch's "oh" of admiration, gave vent herself to
a delighted cry of surprise for, at the foot of the tree, so still as to
seem a graven image, sat little Susy, cross-legged, staring in wrapt
contentment at the bright ornaments.
"Susy, you _darling_, where in the world did you drop from?" Robin
rushed to her and knelt at her side.
Without moving her eyes so much as a fraction of an inch, Susy indicated
the side door of the conservatory as her means of entrance. In one hand
she clutched a soiled ragged picture book, on its uppermost page the
colorful illustration of "The Night before Christmas.
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