"Midnight on the Desert," Jean called them.

"Oh, Emily," she said, "we must have them in the window on Christmas
morning, with the Wise Men and the Star--"

Emily, glancing at the face above the blue apron, was struck by the
radiance of it.

"Is it because Hilda is away?" she asked.

"Is what--?"

"Your--rapture."

Jean laughed. "It is because Hilda is away, and other things. But I
can't tell you now."

Then for fear Emily might be hurt by her secrecy, she flew to kiss her
and again call her "Darling."

At noon she put on her hat and ran home, or at least her heart ran, and
when she reached the house she sought the kitchen.

"I am having company for tea, Ellen--at four. And I want
Lady-bread-and-butter, and oh, Ellen, will you have time for little
pound cakes?"

She knew of course that pound cakes were--_verboten_. She felt,
however, that even Mr. Hoover might sanction a fatted calf in the face
of this supreme event.