In the centre of the table was a Christmas tree, decorated with tinsel and gay ornaments, and lighted by tiny electric bulbs.
At each plate also, was a tiny Christmas tree, whose box-shaped standards bore the names of the diners.
“Here’s mine!” cried Bobby, as he slid into his chair. “Oh, what a jolly dinner!”
On the little place trees hung nuts and bonbons which were to be eaten, “at the pleasure of the performer,” as Roger expressed it.
The table was also decked with holly and red ribbons, and the various viands, as they were served, were shaped or decorated in keeping with the occasion.
The Farrington household was conducted on a most elaborate plan, and their dinners were usually very formal and conventional. But to-night was an exception, and, save for the solemn butler and grave footmen, everybody in the room was bubbling over with laughter and merriment.
“I’m not hungry any more,” declared Bobby, after he had done full justice to several courses; “let’s hurry up, and have the tree.”
“Wait, Bobs,” advised Hester; “we haven’t had the ice cream yet.”
“Oh, that’s so,” said Bobby; “can’t we have it now, mother, and skip these flummerydiddles?”
He looked scornfully at the dainty salad that had just been placed before him, but Mrs. Farrington only smiled, not caring to remind him of the laws of table etiquette on a festive occasion.