“Judy, please help me unpack this barrel from home,” called Molly the day before Christmas. “I know you will want to help carry some of the things to the Greens for me. I almost wish I had sent the barrel there, as so many of the things are to go to them. We shall be laden down, I am sure.”
Judy, all excitement, began to knock off the top hoop and then with much hacking and prying they finally got off the head of the formidable-looking barrel and began to unpack the goodies: a ham for the professor of English cooked by Aunt Mary; a fruit cake for Molly, black and rich, with an odor to it that Judy said reminded her of the feast in St. Agnes Eve; a jar of Rosemary pickles; one of brandy peaches; a box of beaten biscuit; a roasted turkey, stuffed with chestnuts, and a wonderful bunch of mistletoe full of berries, growing to a knobby stunted branch of a walnut tree, which Kent had sawed off with great care and then packed so well with tissue paper that not one berry or leaf was misplaced.
“This is for Miss Green’s party. I asked Kent to get it for me. You know her party is to be an old English one, and it would not be complete without mistletoe. What is this little note hitched to it?
“’Dearest Molly:
“‘I almost broke my neck getting this, and hope it is what you want. Tell Miss Judy Kean, who, I hear, is to spend Christmas with you, not to get under this until I get there.
“’Kent.’
“What can he mean? Judy Kean, is Kent coming here for Christmas? Answer me.”
But Judy only buried her crimson face in the big turkey’s bosom and giggled.
“Answer me, Judy Kean.”
“How do I know? Am I your brother’s keeper?”