all for me. Come
to-morrow and say it all over again to--Nick."

Tears fell down the old pinched cheeks, but Dorothy kissed them away. She
had found the path to Jane Pumfret's affection--it was cheek, just plain
cheek, sometimes called courage.

Yes, it was late, but Dorothy still had Tavia to console--if only she
could insist upon Tavia spending Christmas at The Cedars--Dorothy had
unlimited faith in the magic of the day before Christmas. Nat called to
her as she started up to Tavia's room.

"I say, Doro, maybe I--could help. I'd like to tell her it's all right. I
was mean about it. You know, Tavia and I went--in it--together."

"Oh," replied Dorothy vaguely, "I really don't know what you mean."

Nat saw that he was about to betray a secret. He thought, naturally, that
Tavia had confided fully in Dorothy.

"Oh, I just meant," he stammered, "that if I can say anything to make
Tavia feel--more at home, you know--don't hesitate to ask me."

Tavia was at the head of the stairs looking straight at him.

"Thanks!" she spoke up, all the tears evidently gone. "But if it's all the
same to both of you, I would prefer that you keep your pretty saying for
Christmas. I'm just dead tired, and fully expect to be asleep in exactly
ten minutes."

Dorothy saw that the sudden burst of gloom had been overcome, and knew
that Tavia would actually be as good as her word and asleep in ten
minutes.

"Good-night, then," called Nat, "and don't forget that to-morrow is the
day before Christmas."

"Good-night," added Dorothy, "and don't forget you are to attend to
everything to-morrow while I am in the city. See what it is to be on a
charity committee! I'll have to have a substitute help with all the most
important things--there's heaps to be done yet."

"Good--nig-h-t!" drawled Tavia with a forced yawn. "I am not sure that I
will wake up until the day after Christmas."

"To bed! To bed, every one!" called Mrs. White, and then both troubles and
pleasant anticipations for a happy ending to the queer holiday became
hopelessly tangled in the dreams of the young folks at The Cedars.

Dorothy's last clear thought was: "To-morrow something must happen to make
it all right, for to-morrow is the day before Christmas."

The sun was streaming in her window when she opened her eyes. She jumped
up with a start, for she was to get an early train, go first to the
hospital, then search out the wretched Miss Dearing.

"I could never be happy o