y, of course," answered Deb, with bravery. "I am going to have a
lovely time. Uncle Dick says I can do what I please with the schoolroom,
and Miranda and I and the quarter children--we're going to decorate.
Unity's going to show us how, and Scipio's going to put up the wreaths.
The quarter's to have its feast just the same, and I'm going to help
Unity give out the presents. I expect it will be beautiful!"

The two walked on, Miranda following. Cary took the child's hand. "I
expect it will be beautiful too, Deb. Sometimes ever so much brightness
in just a little place makes up for the grey all around. Aren't you
going to let me see the schoolroom?"

"Oh, would you like to?" cried Deb, brightening. "Certainly, Mr.
Fairfax. Christmas is lovely, isn't it? Unity says that maybe she and I
will slip down to the quarter and watch them dancing. I'm sure I don't
want parties, nor people staying!"

Deb squeezed her companion's hand, and kept silence from the big elm to
the lilac-bushes. Then she broke out. "But I don't understand--I don't
understand at all--"

Cary, looking down upon her, saw her little pointed chin quiver again,
and her brown eyes swim. "What don't you understand, poor little Deb?"

"I don't understand why I can't go to Roselands. I've always gone the
day after every Christmas, and it is always like Christmas over again!
And now Uncle Dick says, 'Stay at home, chicken, this year,' and Uncle
Edward says he needs me to tell him stories, and Unity begged them at
first to let me go, but when they wouldn't, she said that she couldn't
beg them any more, and that she didn't think the world was going right
anyhow." The tears ran over. "And Jacqueline," continued Deb, in a
stifled little voice,--"Jacqueline wrote me a letter and said not to
come this year if Uncle Dick and Uncle Edward wanted me at home. She
told me I must always obey and love them--just as if I didn't anyhow.
She said she loved me more than most anything, but I don't think that is
loving me--to think I'd better not come to Roselands. She said I was
most a woman, and so I am,--I'm more than twelve,--and that I was to
love her always and know that she loved me. Of course I shall love
Jacqueline always--but I wanted to go to Roselands." Deb felt in her
pocket, found a tiny handkerchief, and applied it to her eyes. "It's not
like Christmas not to go to Roselands the day after--and I think people
are cruel."

"I wouldn't think that of your sister, Deb,"