Christmas fussing for three people. Aunt Ellen ought to be in here with
us. That was part of my lonesome grievance but I forgot to mention it."

Roger, shivering apprehensively, visioned suspicious stores of Christmas
delicacies--holly and evergreen--and a supper table set for _ten_! And
off somewhere among those purple spears of twilight old Asher, the hired
man, was waiting at the station with the big farm sleigh.

He must keep his eye upon the Doctor until six o'clock, and lure him
away from the window.

"Tell me a story," begged Roger--"over here by the fire." And his voice
was so very tremulous and urgent that the hungry Doctor abandoned his
notion of a Christmas cookie, and complied.

To Roger, in a nervous ecstasy of anticipation, the story was a blurred
hodge-podge of phrases and crackling fire, distant noises of clinking
china and hurrying feet, and wild flights of imagination.... Old Asher
must be coming past the red barn now ... and now down the hill ... and
now past the Deacon's pond ... and now--

Sleigh-bells fairly leaped out of the quiet, and Roger jumped and
gulped, aquiver with excitement. The Doctor regarded him with mild
disfavor.

"Bless my soul," he said in surprise, "that was the quietest part of my
story. You're restless."

"Go on!" said Roger hoarsely, and the obliging Doctor, mistaking his
agitation for interest, went on with his tale.