That was a Christmas Eve long to be remembered by all those present in
that house amid solitude of snow, of mountain, and of pine forests. The
tree, under the magic touches of Dorian and Carlia grew to be a thing
of beauty, in the eyes of the children. The home-made candles and
decorations were pronounced to be as good as the "boughten ones." And
the candy--what a miracle worker this sober-laughing, ruddy-haired young
fellow was!

Carlia could not resist the spirit of cheer. She smiled with the older
people and laughed with the children. How good it was to laugh again,
she thought. When the tree was fully ablaze, all, with the exception of
Mr. Hickson joined hands and danced around it. Then they had to taste
of the various and doubtful makings of candies, and ate a bread-pan of
snow-white popcorn sprinkled with melted butter. Then Mr. Hickson told
some stories, and his wife in a clear, sweet voice led the children
in some Christmas songs. Oh, it was a real Christmas Eve, made doubly
joyful by the simple helpfulness and kindness of all who took part.

At the close of the evening, Dorian escorted Mrs. Carlston and Carlia
back to their house, and the older woman graciously retired, leaving the
parlor and the glowing log to the young people.

They sat in the big armchairs facing the grate.

"We've had a real nice Christmas Eve, after all," said he.

"Yes."

"Our Christmas Eves at home are usually quiet. I'm the only kid there,