"Do! I always strive to please! I knelt down beside him, of course, and then he took my hand, so I—Honestly, I don't care much what men say—if they only say it right—but I draw the line at being stroked! If that's your idea of a flirtation, it isn't mine!"
"Look out, my dear," warned Howard; "he's a widower and a famous beggar." And Sylvia laughed with him. During the first months she had never laughed. "I am getting to love that child as if she were my own," he said to his wife later. "Whatever shall we do when she goes away? It won't be long now, you'll see."
"Mercy! Don't you even speak of it!" rejoined Mrs. Gray. But she, too, was brooding over the possibility in secret. "Are you sure you're quite contented here, Sylvia?" she asked anxiously the next time they were alone.
Sylvia laid down the dish she was wiping, and came and laid her cheek, now growing softly pink again, against Mrs. Gray's. "Contented," she echoed; "why, I'm—I'm happy—I never was happy in my whole life before. But I shall freeze to death here this winter, unless you'll let me put a furnace in this great house; and I want to glass in part of the big piazza, and have a tiny little conservatory for your plants built off the dining-room. Do you mind if I tear up the place that much more—you've been so patient about it so far."
Mrs. Gray could only throw up her hands.
The "spree" to Boston took place, and proved wonderfully delightful, and then they all settled down quietly for the winter, looking forward to Christmas as the time that was to bring the entire family together again. For even James, the eldest son, had written that he was about to be married, and should come home with his bride for the holidays for his wedding trip; and as Sylvia still firmly refused to leave the farm, Mr. Stevens asked for permission to join Austin when he landed, and be with his niece over the great day. As the time drew near, the house was hung with garlands, and every window proudly displayed a great laurel wreath tied with a huge red bow. Sylvia moved all her belongings into her parlor, and decorated her bedroom for the bride and groom, and went about the house singing as she unpacked great boxes and trimmed a mammoth Christmas tree.
Four days before Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. James Gray arrived, and Mrs. James was promptly pronounced to be "all right" by her husband's family, though the poor girl, of course, underwent tortures before she was sure of their decision. Fred, who with his father and mother was to join in the great feast, brought Sally home from Wallacetown that same night, and took advantage of the mistletoe which Sylvia had hung up, right before them all. Thomas and Molly, both wonderfully citified already, appeared during the course of the next afternoon from opposite directions, and Molly played, and Thomas expounded scientific farming, to the wonder of them all. And finally Mr. Gray went to meet the midnight train from New York at Wallacetown the night before Christmas Eve, and found himself being squeezed half to pieces by the bear hugs of Austin and the hearty handshakes of Mr. Stevens.
"Pile right into the sleigh," he managed to say at last when he was partially released, but still gasping for breath; "we mustn't stand fooling around here, with the thermometer at twenty below zero, and a whole houseful waiting to treat you the same way you've treated me. Austin, seems as if you were bigger than ever, and you've got a different look, same as Thomas and Molly have, only yours is more different."
"There was more room for improvement in my case," his son laughed back, throwing his arm around him again. "My, but it's good to see you! Talk about changes! You look ten years younger, doesn't he, Mr. Stevens? How's mother? And—and Thomas, and the girls? And—and Peter?"
"Yes, how is Peter?" said Mr. Stevens.