"For what?"
He tossed his head toward the branch above them.
"No, indeed!" she replied. "Why should I?"
"I didn't think you would," he said slowly; "but some women would have had a fit!"
"I wasn't built that way," she laughed. "I think I enjoyed it more than any of the rest of you!"
"My dearest wife!" he said gravely, while his lips found their favorite spot where a curl strayed over her forehead,—"My dearest wife!"
She heard with almost a start. Did he realize his words, or was it simply an impulsive phrase? A story had been told her once—but, no, that did not belong to Christmas Eve!
"It was all a happening," he went on. "I spied the mistletoe when I was coming home, and it set me to wondering if it wouldn't help out; so I brought it along. I wanted those dear women to have a real Christmas merry-making, not a sham affair. Take such folks, they'll generally sit around and talk, and laugh a little, and think they are celebrating something. I wanted them to have a young Christmas. And I didn't catch anybody after all," he ended, a plaintive note in his voice.
"You didn't try to catch anybody, did you?" she smiled.
"What ever put such a thing into your head?" he demanded fiercely.