"Your sister Clara and your sister Isabel——"
"That was not serious. They must be quite over it by now."
"Not over it at all. It's worse. I happen to know what they said to each other the last time they were here. Your sister Clara said——"
"Never mind, Mrs. Griggs. We must surely get them here. The others are certainly on the best of terms."
Mrs. Griggs pursed her lips. "I guess you've forgotten, Mr. Stephen about that old fuss between George's family and William's. They've never been the same since. There's a coolness——"
"We will warm it up. Coolness can't exist in the Christmas warmth. If you feel that you can tuck everybody away somewhere——"
"Mr. Stephen"—Mrs. Griggs's tone was a trifle indignant—"there's eleven sleeping-rooms in this house."
"Are there? I had forgotten. I haven't been upstairs in—twenty years. I can't quite remember whether there are fireplaces in them all."
"All but two—and they have Franklin stoves."
"Have Israel fill all the wood-boxes, Mrs. Griggs. Send him to the woods for ground-pine. I will order holly from the city. Tell Mary and Hannah to begin cooking and baking. But I must write my invitations. It's three weeks yet to Christmas. Plenty of time to plan. Please hand me my writing materials, Mrs. Griggs."