"Tell me now," coaxed Marjorie, snuggling comfortably into the hollow of the protecting arm.
"That would be strictly against orders," came the laughing response. "Have patience, Lieutenant."
"All right, I will." Sturdily dismissing her curiosity, Marjorie began a detailed account of the afternoon's labor, which lasted until Mr. Dean came rollicking in and engaged Marjorie in a rough-and-tumble romp that left her flushed and laughing.
Despite her many errands of good will and charity, the next two days dragged interminably. On Christmas Eve Mr. Dean took his family and Mary to the theatre to see a play that had had a long, successful run in New York City the previous season and was now doomed to the road. After the play they stopped at Sargent's for a late supper. Under Mr. Dean's genial influence Mary thawed a trifle and even went so far as to address Marjorie several times, to the latter's utter amazement. This was in reality the beginning of Mrs. Dean's carefully laid plan. Marjorie guessed as much and wondered hopefully as to what might happen next.
Nothing special occurred that evening, however, except that Mary bade her a curt "good night." But Marjorie hugged even that short utterance to her heart and went to sleep in a buoyantly hopeful state of mind.
She was awakened the next morning by a military tattoo, rapped on her door by energetic fingers. "Report to the living room for duty," commanded a purposely gruff voice, which she was not slow to recognize.
"Merry Christmas, General," she called. "Lieutenant Dean will report in the living room in about three minutes." Hopping out of bed she reached for her bath robe. Then the sound of tapping fingers again came to her ears. This time they were on Mary's door. Hastily drawing on stockings and bed-room slippers, she sped from her room and down the stairs. Her father stood stiffly at the foot of the stairway in his most general-like manner. She saluted and came to attention. A moment or two of waiting followed, then Mary appeared at the head of the stairs. She began to descend slowly, but Mr. Dean called out, "No lagging in the line," and long obedience to orders served to make her quicken her pace.
"Twos right, march," ordered Mr. Dean, motioning toward the living room.
Wonderingly the company of two obeyed. Then two pairs of eyes were fastened upon a curious object that stood upright in the middle of the living-room table. It was a good-sized flag of pure white.
"Form ranks!" came the order.