Her appearance, her gayety, and above all her greeting moved, alas, every heart against her. If she had come humbly, plainly dressed, remembering the circumstances under which she had departed, her grandfather would have taken her to his arms. If she had been a little less lovely, Amos would not have been afraid of her. If she had been quieter, as suited her sex and station, Matthew would not have turned away from her.
But she cried out with singularly poor judgment, "Merry Christmas," forgetting that Grandfather believed in searching of heart rather than gayety upon such occasions. Upon her grandfather's cheek she bestowed a granddaughterly kiss, and to Amos she gave her hand. Then going to Matthew, she put her arms round him. He longed to respond, to put both his arms round her and to hide his tearful eyes against her curls, but the expression which he gave to this desire was a sharp,
"You're getting too old for such foolishness, Ellen."
Ellen backed toward the table.
"I brought you Christmas presents—gloves for you, Grandfather, and handkerchiefs for Amos, and a picture for Matthew." She handed them round, one by one, then stood, a bewildered fairy-godmother, in the midst of unresponsive beneficiaries.
"I go out very little in cold weather"—this from Grandfather.
Amos did not lift the handkerchiefs from the table.
"I don't approve of pictures, Ellen," said Matthew. "We would much better be reading our Bibles than looking at pictures."
She knew suddenly that Matthew would not come home, that they would not come to dinner, but she hurried to give her invitation before she should lose her voice.
"Father and Mrs. Sassaman and I would like you all to come to dinner to-morrow. Every one. We're going to have turkey."