“I’m very proud of you both,” he said, pausing in the doorway to attempt a gallant bow, but, before it was half done, a pair of soft arms caught him round the neck.
“That’s what you get for standing under the mistletoe,” Jacquette explained as she let him go. “You’d better be more cautious after the girls get here, grandpa!”
“I’d like to know how anyone’s going to help getting under it in this house, to-night,” he answered, pretending to look injured, as he glanced up at the wreaths and festoons of green overhead. “It looks innocent enough—all that holly and red Christmas bells dangling around—but the mistletoe’s tucked in everywhere, I suspect. It’s a trap. I’m going to warn Bobs about it, the minute he gets here.”
“Warn Bobs, indeed!” Jacquette repeated, laughing back into his face. “You must remember, grandpa, that Bobs is terribly grown up, this vacation. And I’m a senior, too. You’d better be careful how you joke.” Then she added, irrelevantly, “I’ve just had an awful thought. What if we’ve invited more people than we’ll have room for?”
“No danger, child. Don’t you worry. Your grandmother always said our house was elastic when it came to taking in friends, and I rather think Sula’s inherited the knack of making it stretch.”
“It isn’t as if they were going to stay all night,” said Aunt Sula, with a smile. “Father, do you remember the winter we lived in the little brown house, how Mac had to sleep on the hall couch so often that he threatened to put up a sign, ‘Malcolm’s Guest-room,’ over his bedroom door?”
“Do I?” Mr. Granville laughed softly. “We gave house-parties in those days, only we didn’t call them that, did we?”
“But aren’t times changed?” Jacquette put in, greatly amused. “Think of Uncle Mac now, giving up his splendid room and sleeping on a hall couch! Or imagine Quis doing it. Aunt Fanny would hold up her hands in horror at the thought.”
“I’ve seen times since we came to Channing when I thought it might do Quis good to give up a few things,” said the old gentleman, thoughtfully, “but I guess the boy’s coming out all right, in spite of the money. As for Malcolm, it hasn’t hurt him a bit. He’s the same good boy at heart that he always was.”
“Speaking of angels, there he is, now!” Jacquette exclaimed. “No, it isn’t Uncle Mac, either,” she added as she flung the front door wide open and peered out into the snowy night. “It’s someone in a closed carriage. Why, Tia, it’s Mrs. Howland! Would she come away and leave Margaret? Probably Margaret made her do it, but she told me yesterday that the worst thing typhoid fever had done to her, next to putting off her graduation, was keeping her away from our Christmas party. Why, look! Who’s that? Who is it?”