| "Merry, merry Christmas, everywhere, |
| Cheerily it ringeth through the air. |
| Christmas bells, Christmas trees, |
| Christmas odors on the breeze. |
| Merry, merry Christmas, everywhere, |
| Cheerily it ringeth through the air!" |
The others joined in, and then, clasping hands they circled around the room, their shadows flickering in fantastic and gigantic shapes on the wall as the fire danced with them.
"It's going to be the best Christmas ever—the very best ever!" murmured Amy, shyly, as she sat beside her—brother.
"That's right, little girl," he said, patting her arm, the one torn by the lynx. But he took good care to pat above the scratch, which had been bandaged.
For there was now no doubt that Amy and Mr. Blackford were brother and sister. Following the strange revelation to him of the red mark on her shoulder, the young business man had caused careful inquiries to be made. There was no mistake this time. The baby picked up in the flood had the red mark—Mr. Blackford's missing sister had the red mark, and so had Amy. They were one and the same. This was sufficiently proved.
And if other identification was needed, it was in the scar near Amy's elbow—a scar which at one time she hoped would prove a means of identifying her. And it did in a measure.
For the mark was that made by the hot point of a flatiron. One had fallen on her when she was a baby, making a bad burn that had healed over in the course of time. This fact regarding Amy was learned from the old diary found with her on the raft in the flood. And from another and independent source it was learned that Mr. Blackford's missing sister had a similar scar, caused by a like accident. Though years had almost obliterated it, still it was sufficiently plain.
"They can't get you away from me now, Amy," said Mr. Blackford, proudly.
"I won't let them," added Amy, moving closer to him.
"Pass the chocolates, Sis," ordered Will. "What is Christmas without candy?"