“I take all my problems to Dad,” said Ann. “Mother is lovely, too, but we try to spare her a little, he and I.”
Mr. Sterling declared that the young people of the family would be such wrecks after all the going of Christmas week that they would not be able to go to Florida when the time came, but Ann told him that he did not realize what constitutions they had. “We thrive on sleigh rides and parties,” she asserted.
“Time will tell,” replied Mr. Sterling, shaking his head with what was intended to be a mournful expression but rather failed of effect.
Rides, little talks, feasting and visiting, the exciting event at the Bentleys, where Suzanne and Ann appeared in all the glory of new frocks, and last, the grand finale at the LeRoy mansion, on Christmas eve, made up the tale of the days before Christmas. Christmas day would be quiet, a welcome rest, even with its excitement of gift giving and receiving. But the older part of the family had arranged most of that. Most of the packing for departure, too, had been done before the girls and Maurice came home from college. Ann had selected her clothes, when she came home, with a view to Florida, bringing what her mother had directed.
The family slept late on Christmas morning, with the exception of Madge and Roy, who had their own Christmas tree in the nursery. There was usually a big tree for all; but when it was decided to have this last Christmas Eve entertainment, the plan was changed. Other gifts, beside those of the children, were to be found in various places, Ann’s on a chair by her bedside, where she could examine them before she rose. It was strange to her, though she enjoyed her gifts, for their beauty and for their givers. But always before she had had some one with whom to share the fun. Last year, to be sure, she was away from home, but there was the tree. She would not disturb her mother and father, who were, without doubt, sleeping the sleep of the just. How quiet the house was! Later they would all go to church in the village, then have their family dinner.
One present from Maurice pleased her, a handsomely bound book of verse, an anthology, in which he had marked some poems, not for their sentimental meaning, Ann discovered, with the exception of one. She would take that book to read on the way. Ann had not known that Maurice was at all inclined to verse, or, indeed, to any sort of literature. While she lay among her soft pillows she thought of many things, among them, how easy it was to misjudge people. On that lovely winter morning with its message of good will, it was easy to think kind thoughts, even toward Aunt Sue, who was, in truth, the head of a very successful and comfortable home.
Ann decided to take one more nap, after she had finished looking over her gifts; nor did she waken till Adeline rapped. “Here is your breakfast, Miss Ann,” she said, “and your mother says that you will just about have time to eat it and get ready for church.”