Betsey looked extremely nervous at this suggestion, and Susan slowly shook her head. She knew how hopeless the plan was. She and Betsey realized even better than the absent Anna how rooted was Mrs. Carroll's unhappy state. Now and then, on a clear day, the mother would be heard going softly downstairs for a few moments in the garden; now and then at the sound of luncheon preparations downstairs she would come out to call down, "No lunch for me, thank you, girls!" Otherwise they never saw her except sitting idle, black-clad, in her rocking-chair.
But Christmas was very close now, and must somehow be endured.
"When are you boys going to Mill Valley for greens?" asked Susan, on the Saturday before the holiday.
"Would you?" Philip asked slowly. But immediately he added, "How about to-morrow, Jimsky?"
"Gee, yes!" said Jim eagerly. "We'll trim up the house like always, won't we, Betts?"
"Just like always," Betts answered.
Susan and Betsey fussed with mince-meat and frosted cookies; Susan accomplished remarkably good, if rather fragile, pumpkin pies. The four decorated the down-stairs rooms with ropes of fragrant green. The expressman came and came and came again; Jimmy returned twice a day laden from the Post Office; everyone remembered the Carrolls this year.
Anna and Philip and Billy came home together, at midday, on Christmas Eve. Betsey took immediate charge of the packages they brought; she would not let so much as a postal card be read too soon. Billy had spent many a Christmas Eve with the Carrolls; he at once began to run errands and carry up logs as a matter of course.
A conference was held over the turkey, lying limp in the center of the kitchen table. The six eyed him respectfully.
"Oughtn't this be firm?" asked Anna, fingering a flexible breast-bone.