Colonel Tracy looked up. "Christmas card!" he repeated. "Where is the volume?"
"The Encyclopædia! O how stupid of me! The postman came, and I forgot. I'll get it at once."
"Make haste!" hurried her steps. She would have liked to wait and see the envelope opened. Expeditious as she was, that process was over by the time she returned. The Colonel sat bolt upright, gazing at something in his hand, with a singular expression on his sunburnt face. It was a Christmas card, as Dorothea had guessed, and she came fearlessly near, to gaze also. There was a background of dull pale blue, and across the background flew a white dove, bearing in its beak a bunch of leaves—presumably an olive-branch. "Peace and Good-Will" in golden letters occupied one corner.
"Why, father, it is quite an old card," Dorothea exclaimed merrily, anxious to throw herself into his interests. "Look at the soiled edges; and a crease all down the middle. It might be years old."
The Colonel was not communicative. He glanced at her with the same odd expression, and said, "Yes."
"Who can it be from? Some old friend of yours?"
"We were friends—once!"
"And not now?"
"No!" decisively.
"But you exchange Christmas cards?"