The Fairchilds were at the breakfast table and everybody looked eagerly at Jeanne.
"It must be from the Rossiters," said she. "I wrote to Mrs. Rossiter ever so long ago—oh! they've been to Alaska—they always travel a lot. And my letter followed them from place to place, and they didn't get it until just the other day. But oh! Here's news of my grandfather. I'll read it to you:
"'We were so sorry to hear, through Mr. Charles Huntington, that your grandfather is in such a hopeless condition. He has been absolutely helpless for the past three months and his mind is completely gone. He knows no one and I am sure does not miss you, so, my dear, you need worry no longer about that. I doubt if he has been well enough, for a single day since you saw him last, to miss anybody.'"
"I'm sorry my grandfather is like that," said Jeanne, "but of course I'm glad he doesn't miss me. I'm afraid he won't be able to use the nice handkerchief that I'm embroidering that lovely 'H' on for Christmas. Poor grandfather. He's been sick so long."
"Anyway," said Mrs. Fairchild, seeking to divert her, "Annie will like her doll."
"Yes," said Jeanne, brightening, "she'll just love it. We never had any Christmas on the dock and the Huntingtons had a very grown-up one—no toys or trees or stockings. I've always wanted to see a 'Merry Christmas.'"
"You're going to," assured Mrs. Fairchild. "Captain Blossom shall come to dinner and we'll have a tree. He'd make a splendid Santa Claus, wouldn't he? We'll all be young and foolish and you shall invite Bessie and Lucy, and any other of your schoolmates that you like, to your tree—there'll be plenty of extra candy boxes and a lot of little trinkets that will fit anybody."
For Jeanne had girl friends! More than that, Lucy's father was a carpenter and Mrs. Fairchild didn't care. She said he was a good carpenter; and that Lucy was a sweet girl. And Bessie lived in an unfashionable part of town. Mrs. Fairchild didn't mind that, either; nor the fact that the girl's father sold meat in his corner grocery. Bessie, she said, was a dear, with such a nice mother. She had taken pains to find out.
Jeanne couldn't help remembering her experience with Lizzie, Susie, and Aunt Agatha; nor feeling that Mrs. Fairchild's attitude toward her friends was much pleasanter. She was having lunch with Bessie, one day in November, when Mr. Fairchild brought home a piece of news.
"Does anybody in this house happen to know the whereabouts of a young woman named Jeannette Huntington Duval?" he asked, when he came in that noon.