On Christmas Eve, Peggy and Dalton were decorating the large room with spruce boughs and some holly wreaths and mistletoe sent by Mrs. Ives. The most perfect little Christmas tree that the Secrest woods could furnish stood in front of the window, ready to be lit up for the world to see, though that world might consist only of a few village children in whose welfare Beth and the rest were interested.
Leslie sat in front of the fireplace stringing the last bit of corn out of the popper for festoons upon the tree. Beth was finishing little net stockings for nuts and candy. “We must stop for some supper, children,” she was saying.
“Oh, never mind about supper; there’s too much to do.” Peggy gave Dalton a mischievous glance as she spoke.
“Never,” he promptly replied. “Didn’t I bring home the bacon myself?”
“Yes, you did,” answered Leslie, emptying the corn popper and rising from the floor. “I’ll cook that rabbit myself. I can watch it while we finish up. What more is there to do, Beth?”
“Not so much. Anita’s doll has to have a sash, Sonia’s a cap and Josef’s drum needs hanging on the tree. If you will get the supper, I will finish, Leslie. The baskets of food for them need a little more arranging. Peggy and Dal may drape the popcorn on the tree, if they will.”
Something was already bubbling in an old-fashioned iron pot in the fireplace; but it was the same old reliable and speedy “portable” which Leslie used to cook the rabbit. Behind a tall screen in one corner of the room stood a table, the stove and a cupboard, but primitive ways of cooking in the fireplace, were fun when “used in moderation,” as Peggy put it.
Soon the savory supper was over and everything cleared away. Peggy and Leslie lit the candles on the trees, for they knew that eager feet were trampling the light snow in the path from the village. Childish voices were heard outside before long and then there came a pause. Leslie was about to fling open the door, but Beth signaled to her to wait. It was Anita whose clear voice led the Christmas carol which Beth had taught them, but the children were almost too excited to finish it properly for the lights of the tree shone out over the snow to invite them within.
“I couldn’t make ’em sing it vera good,” said Anita, as Beth drew her inside with the rest of the children and several mothers, one of whom Beth had first met that day on the beach when someone else important entered Beth’s life to stay.
“It was beautiful,” Beth answered lovingly. “Now we’ll all sing together while you warm your toes and fingers by the fire. Leslie, get your guitar, please, and Peggy, you may lead us if you will. We shall have Sarita to sing with us after Christmas. After we sing about the little Christ-Child, we shall see what Santa can find for us on that tree!”