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When the Yule Log Burns - A Christmas Story by Leona Dalrymple
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neighbors of his father's who had been dropping in all day with a hearty
smile and a Christmas hand-shake. And black-eyed Sister Madge--this
brave, little fighting gipsy-poet here--where--But here Ralph frowned
again and looked away and even when the cheerful lights of home
glimmered through the trees he was still thinking--after an impetuous
burst of confidence to Sister Madge.

So, later, when Doctor Ralph entered his father's study--his chin was
very determined.

"I was ashamed to tell you this morning, sir," he said steadily, "but
I--I'm no longer on the staff of St. Michael's. My hand was shaking
and--and the chief knew why. And, dad," he faced the old Doctor
squarely, "I'm coming back home to keep your practise out of Price's
fool hands. You've always wanted that and my chief has preached it too,
though I couldn't see it somehow until to-day. And presently, sir,
when--when my hand is steadier, I'm going to make the little chap walk
and run. I've--promised Sister Madge." And the old Doctor cleared his
throat and gulped--and finally he wiped his glasses and walked away to
the window. For of all things God could give him--this surely was the
best!

"Oh, grandpop," cried little John Leslie 3rd, bolting into the study in
great excitement--"Come see Roger! We kids have made him the Christmas
king and he's got a crown o' holly on and--and a wand and he's a-tappin'
us this way with it to make us Knights. And I'm the Fir-tree Knight--and
Bob--he's a Cedar Knight and Ned's a spruce and Roger--he says his
pretty sister tells him stories like that smarter'n any in the books.
Oh--do hurry!"

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