But Roger had heard old Asher driving along by the picket fence and
turning in at the gate-posts, and the story was no more to him than the
noisy crackle of the log. Off somewhere in the region of the kitchen
door he detected a subdued scuffle of many feet.

The grandfather's clock struck six.... Roger's cheeks were blazing--the
fire and the Doctor still duetting.... Why, oh, why didn't somebody
come and call them to supper?... There had been plenty of time now for
everything. Why--

The door swung back and Roger jumped. Old Annie, Asher's wife, stood in
the doorway, her wrinkled face inscrutable.

"Supper, sir!" she said and vanished. Hand in hand, the Doctor and Roger
went out to supper.

The dining-room door was closed. That in itself was unusual. But the
unsuspecting Doctor pushed through with Roger at his heels, only to halt
and stare dumfounded over his spectacles while Roger screamed and danced
and clapped his hands. For to the startled eyes of Doctor John Leslie,
the snug, old-fashioned room was alive with boys and holly--boys and
boys and boys upon boys, he would have told you in that first instant of
delighted consternation, in different stages of embarrassment and rags.
And one had but to glance at the faces of old Asher and Annie in the
kitchen doorway, at Aunt Ellen, hovering near her Christmas brood with
the look of all mothers in her kind, brown eyes, and then at Roger,
scarlet with enthusiasm, to know that the Doctor had been the victim of
benevolent conspiracy.