“Father,” she said, quietly opening the door, “will you bring May out to her Christmas eve?”
“What!” said father.
But mechanically he took in his arms the light form of his daughter, and followed Lottie. At the door he stood transfixed, and May could not speak or breathe for wonder.
That one moment paid Lottie for all her hard work, but Nancy’s “Do tell!” as she peeped over their shoulders and saw the illuminated tree, broke the spell.
Father broke out with tears in his eyes, “Why, Lottie!” and May cried ecstatically: “How wonderful! how lovely! is it a dream? is it fairies?”
“No, May,” Lottie whispered, coming up softly behind her, “it’s only a Christmas tree, and it’s yours!”
“Mine! and you made it?” exclaimed May, understanding at once Lottie’s intense occupation of the last month.
“Who helped you, my daughter?”
“No one, father,” said Lottie.
“Well, it’s wonderful, really wonderful. How could you do it all alone? I can’t understand it! What a little, smothered volcano you must have been all these weeks!”