“And so you are going to make the Saxe Home an example and set the ball rolling.”
“Exactly, Con. And we’re going to slam the door in the faces of the dramatic rich this Christmas. The lambies at the Saxe are going to have a nice, old-fashioned tree. They are going to dress it themselves the night before, and whisper up the chimney what they want—and there is not going to be a speech on Christmas Day within a mile of that Home!”
“That’s great. I’d like to come in on that myself.”
“You can, Con, we’ll need you.”
“Christmas always does set the children in one’s thoughts, doesn’t it? I suppose Betty is particularly keen—having had her baby for a day or so.” Truedale’s eyes were tender. Betty’s baby and its fulfilled mission were sacred to him and Lynda.
“Betty is going to adopt a child, Con.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She says she cannot stand Christmas without one. It’s a rebuke to—to her boy.”
“Poor little Bet!”
“Oh! it makes me so—so humble when I see her courage. She says if she has a dozen children of her own it will make no difference; she must have her first child’s representative. She’s about decided upon the one—he’s the most awful of them all. She’s only hesitating to see if anything awfuller will turn up. She says she’s going to take a baby no one else will have—she’s going to do the biggest thing she can for her own dead boy. As if her baby ever could be dead! Sometimes I think he is more alive than if he had stayed here and got all snarled up in earthly things—as so many do!”