“And I play it’s mine,” Lois interrupted Timothy, “because I don’t really know, and sailor Tom said he thought I must have been born about December.”
“Why not?” said Timothy; “and some day you will know. Just because ships are lost, there is no rhyme nor reason in talking about people being lost; meantime, there are two Christmas candles shining here.”
“Doctor says he is going to have Maddie for his Christmas candle; doesn’t she look like a real one in her white dress and that hair?” Dorothy enthused.
“She does,” Timothy admitted. “She will no doubt shine in more ways than one. She may need some snuffing; candles get into the way of sputtering if they are not well cared for.” A pause, while the black and blond heads rested contentedly against Timothy’s broad shoulder.
“Do you think, Timothy,” and the blond head lifted, “I am beginning to shine a little clearer, the way mother dear would want me to?”
“You do indeed, sweetheart,” and Timothy’s eyes were very soft just then. “You see, a happy, laughing little girl, who is always sharing her joy, is very like a clear light, a twinkling star—one feels better just to know she is there.”
“Tell something about me,” demanded Lois.
“It’s a good little candle,” and Timothy dropped a kiss on the glossy black head. “It burns more steadily every day. Seems to me,” thoughtfully, “I have heard no crying for some time; tears have such a way of extinguishing the light.
“But it’s Christmas secrets I’m waiting to hear,” said Timothy, all animation, and while they assured him they could not tell anything, confided to him all the important secrets.
Hand in hand they took him through the house, showing him the exact spot where each treasure was to be found. Up into the tower they climbed to see the candles to be lighted Christmas eve. “Lois’ shines out over the land, and mine shines out over the sea,” said Dorothy.