“I haven’t thought of the weather. Ever since I saw you last I’ve thought of you,—and thought, and thought. It’s Christmas Eve, you know. I have come to wish you a Merry Christmas, and I have brought you a Christmas gift—one to keep till spring, at least.”
“Come to the fire,” I urged.
She sat down and I sat down opposite her. The firelight caressed her, played in her eyes, ruddied her cheeks that were glowing from her walk through the wintry air.
“In all the time I have known you this is the first time I have ever shared your fire,” she whispered.
There was a silence. I could hear my heart-beats. How fine of her to come to me in this womanly fashion! I sat and watched her. A lock of hair had fallen over her ivory brow. She had dropped her head forward on to her hand, and her dewy lips were parted. I stooped closer, closer still. A tear slipped down on her smooth cheek and glistened in the firelight as I gazed. She turned her face away.
“What gift have you brought me?” I whispered.
There was a movement in the shadows beyond the circle of light cast by the green-shaded lamp—a rustle and a stir—then a swift hurtling of a small lithe figure across the open space—a pause—a swooping, frantic clutch of young strong arms about my neck, and Joey, all wet and steaming in his snowy coat, had me fast, shouting in my ear, over and over again:
“I’m your Christmas gift, Mr. David! I’m your Christmas gift.”
He was in my arms, and Haidee had drawn back and was smiling at me, her eyes like great luminous pools of fire.
“What a wonderful, wonderful present,” I responded shakily. “Now, who could have sent me this very best present in the world?”