At first, the younger members of the Blossom family felt constrained and a little awed in such surroundings; for although they had been several times in the house, they had never taken tea there. But the Fords and the other city people soon put them at their ease, and, as Cherry declared afterwards, "It was like eating in a fairy story." There was a real pigeon pie at one end and a Virginia ham at the other, as well as cold, roast duck with gooseberry jam. There were sparkling jellies, and the whole family of tea-cakes--orange, cocoanut, sponge, and chocolate; and, oh, bliss!--strawberry ice-cream in a nest of spun cinnamon candy, followed by Malaga grapes and hot chocolate topped with a whip of cream.
After tea there was the surprise of a beautiful Christmas Tree in the library. Ruth Ford had occupied many a weary hour in making the decorations--roses and lilies fashioned from tissue paper to closely copy nature; gilded walnuts; painted paper butterflies; pink sugar hearts, and cornucopias of gilt and silver paper, in each of which was a bunch of real flowers--roses, violets, carnations, and daisies, ordered by Jack Sherrill from New York. On the topmost branch, there was a waxen Christ-child. The tree was lighted by dozens of tiny colored candles. When the door was opened from the living-room, and the children caught sight of the wonderful tree, they held their breath and whispered to one another.
But more lovely than the tree in the eyes of the older people were the radiant faces of the young people and the children. Rose, with clasped hands, stood gazing up at the Christ-child that crowned the glowing, glittering mass of dark green. She was wholly unconscious of the many pairs of eyes that rested upon her in love and admiration. There was nothing so beautiful in the whole room as the young girl standing there with earnest blue eyes, raised reverently to the little waxen figure. Her lips were parted in a half smile; a flush of excitement was on her cheeks; the white dress set off the exquisite fairness of her skin; the shining crown of golden-brown hair, that hung in a heavy braid to within a foot of the hem of her gown, caught the soft lights above her and formed almost a halo about the face.
Suddenly there was a burst of admiration from the children, and, under cover of it, Doctor Heath turned to Mr. Clyde, who was standing beside him:--
"By heavens, John! That girl is too beautiful; she will make some hearts ache before she is many years older, as well as your own Hazel--look at her now!"
The father's eyes rested lovingly, but thoughtfully, on the graceful little figure that was busy distributing the cornucopias with their fragrant contents. Yes, she, too, was beautiful, giving promise of still greater beauty. He turned to the Doctor and held out his hand:--
"Richard, I have to thank you for this transformation."
"No--not me," said the Doctor, earnestly, "but," pointing to Mrs. Blossom, "that woman there, John. Hazel needed the mother-love, just as much as Jack does at this moment."
Jack had turned away when the Doctor began to speak of Rose, and, joining her, said, "Won't you wear one of my roses just to-night, Miss Blossom?"
"Your roses! Why, did you give us all those lovely flowers?"