“No,” said Mrs. McGuire, smiling; “most boys prefer a home.”
And then dinner was over, and they all strolled through the hotel corridor and bought some flowers at the flower-stand, and some illustrated papers at the news-stand, and then went up to their own apartment.
Mrs. McGuire played the piano for them, and they danced a little, and then, after some planning for the next day’s entertainment, they all went to rest.
The next day was clear and pleasant, and when breakfast was served in their own dining-room, all the party were ready and eagerly awaiting it.
“Then it is decided,” said Mrs. McGuire, “that we have our Christmas tree this evening?”
“Oh, yes,” said Betty; “Christmas eve is the time for a tree, and to-morrow, on Christmas day, we’ll have our feast, our real Christmas dinner. Don’t you think so, Agnes?”
“Yes, indeed. And then the tree can stay here, can’t it, all day to-morrow? I love to look at a Christmas tree.”
“So do I,” said Betty. “And as I never had one before, I’ll keep this one as long as I can.”
It was less than a year since Betty had inherited her fortune, and before that she had been a poor little waif, without money and without a home.
Her mother’s heart thrilled with gladness to think that Betty would have a tree this year, and she resolved to do everything in her power to make it a beautiful one.