"Will the party be here?" asked Pat, recalling on the instant some very lovely parties given for her sister which she, because she was too little to go downstairs, had had to watch over the stair banister.
"No, I don't believe the house would be big enough for this one," and Penelope laughed at the mystified expression on Pat's face.
Then Aunt Pen unfolded the plans she and Mrs. Lee had made. The girls of the Troop would be the hostesses of this party and the guests would be the men, women and children in the neighborhood of the Works. There must, of course, be a tree, and the girls could arrange tableaux and then everyone could sing and dance! And there would be sandwiches and coffee and ice cream and cake and a gift for each one.
Gradually into Pat's face crept a deep interest so that when the last small detail had been explained the smile that Aunt Pen had prophesied came back once more. It would be a wonderful party, and could they begin planning the tableaux right away and couldn't they run over this very minute and tell Sheila?
So that Mr. Everett's going made scarcely a break in the exciting preparations, the rehearsals, the arranging of costumes, the planning of the party "supper" and the gifts for the guests. In desperation Aunt Pen declared that the holidays might as well begin at once as it was impossible to hold Pat down to any lessons! And Renée, too, was working feverishly, completing a rush order for Christmas cards that had come to "LaDue and Everett" from Miss Higgin's tea room!
On Christmas Eve the Eyrie was emptied of the treasures it had held, the stockings hanging over the library fireplace were filled and little piles of tissue paper packages of all sizes were made for Jasper, Melodia and Maggie. The rooms were filled with a spicy odor of hemlock; holly hung over window and door.
"Oh, isn't it fun?" laughed Pat, stepping back to survey the bulging stockings. "Can you guess what's in anything, Ren? And don't you wish you were little again and really truly believed in Santa Claus?"
"Susette used to tell me stories of the real St. Nicholas--she said he was the patron saint of children!"
"Well, I like to think of him as a jolly old fellow driving his reindeers faster'n Watkins can drive the car--and lots of jingling bells! I think about it and then I can most hear them!"
Renée had gone to one of the windows at the end of the room to peer out into the darkness. Snow had fallen which dulled the sounds of the city to a musical tone not unlike distant bells of the good Santa. Suddenly she called to Pat: