“Well—you know the rest. It was something I could do, so here she is, and royally welcome. If we never find her parents, we will try and make good her loss.
“Dorothy is right. She says it is ridiculous for one little girl to have as much as she does, and ‘Mother dear would want us to share.’
“By the way, doctor, Christmas plans are in the air; stay and hear about them.
“I will indeed,” said the doctor, as they turned toward the library door. “Do you know,” the doctor continued, “that of all lonesome things on the face of the earth a bachelor’s lot at Christmas time seems the very essence of dreariness?”
The words were spoken jestingly, but there was an undercurrent of intense pathos in them, that made Mr. Douglas lay his hand lovingly on his shoulder as he said, gravely: “I believe you are right, my friend; I am a rich and happy man, not only in the possession of present blessings, but in the precious memories of past joys. I think this is going to be the very best Christmas of all my life, because I am learning a little of true gratitude.”
“It is going to be a rough night,” said Mr. Douglas, as he turned to the window and looked out into the gathering darkness and noted the white flakes falling on the window-ledge outside. “The gray clouds have been settling down all day, the wind is rising rapidly, and there is every indication of a heavy storm. There promises to be plenty of snow for the Christmas frolic.”
Then, drawing the shades, he drew two comfortable easy chairs before the fire, just as the children came tripping in.
III.
CHRISTMAS PLANS.
“Well,” said the doctor, “let us hear about the Christmas plans. I feel perfectly certain that I shall have to go to the city and offer assistance to Santa Claus. Every year it turns out that some little boy or girl gets up Christmas morning to an empty stocking and no one wants such a thing to happen.”
“Why, that’s just what we want to do—give a really merry Christmas to some of the sorry ones,” and Dorothy plunged into the subject. “You know last summer there were some children in this neighborhood, ‘Fresh air children,’ they were called. Jeanie brought one of them, a little girl, Maddie Morrison, over here to see if any of my dresses would fit her. We played with her in the garden a long time. She said she wanted to live here always, because it was so quiet, she ‘could hear her own feet walking.’