“I came near it, but I never got there.”
“Huccome?”
“My mother and I were going over to join my father, but he came home to—to die. He was wounded and gassed, you know.”
The grin faded from Reed’s face. “I didn’t know, but I do know that he was a mighty good artist. I’ve always liked his work tremendously.”
“Oh, I am so glad. You have seen it here?”
“Yes, you know Uncle Pete has a lot of his pictures packed away. He means to have an exhibition of them some day with some of his own work.”
“My mother always hoped that could be done sometime. Dear Don Pedro, it is like him to want to do that.”
“Here comes Santa Claus. We’d better go over and see what he has for us.”
So Ellen, escorted by the grotesque figure, crossed the room to where the tree, now lighted up by many colored electric bulbs, was fast becoming surrounded by the company.
There was a gift, and sometimes more than one, for each person. “I can scarcely wait to see your present to me,” Ellen whispered to Mrs. Austin. She did not have to wait long, for in a few minutes Santa Claus handed her a small box which she opened immediately, to see smiling up at her the pictured face of her own mother, painted upon ivory. It was as much as the girl could do to choke back the tears, but she did, and had barely whispered her thanks when her name was again called, and another box was passed over to her. This contained a string of crystal beads, Mr. Austin’s gift, which she at once decided to wear.