Jean had changed but little since that night, seventeen years before, when she had come back to her father, as if from the grave. The years had dealt lightly with her, and except for the passing of her father and Old Mammy, her life had been very happy. Two boys and a girl had come to gladden the home, and as these gathered about her on this Christmas Eve, her eyes shone with pride. James, the eldest, aged twelve, had his father's manly bearing. Ruth, almost nine, resembled herself, while Tommy, just six, was a combination of both. As Jean watched them, she thought of that other Christmas when she had returned to her father. She glanced at his picture over the mantel, and as old memories rushed upon her, tears dimmed her eyes. She hastily wiped them away, but not before Ruth had detected her emotion.
"You mustn't cry on Christmas Eve, Mummy," she said, as she came and put her arms about her mother's neck.
"I wasn't really crying, dear," Jean replied with a smile. "I was just thinking; that was all."
"About grandad, and the time you were stolen away?" James asked.
"Won't you tell us about it?"
"But I have told you that so often, you must be tired of hearing it."
"We're never tired of it, Mummy," Ruth said. "Please tell us while we're waiting for daddy."
With Tommy on her lap, James sitting at her feet, and Ruth seated on a small stool by her side, Jean again related the story of the little settlement in the wilderness, the coming of the rangers, how she was carried off at night, and her rescue by Sam and Kitty. She told the story well, and when she had ended there was silence for a few minutes. The three little ones were lost in deep thought, for everything they had heard was very real to them.
"And did you marry daddy?" Tommy unexpectedly asked, at which the others laughed merrily.
"No, dear, not for several years. I guess we were too poor to marry. Anyway, we waited until your daddy and my daddy built this nice house and cleared some of the land."
"Are we rich now, Mummy?" Ruth questioned.