he
little lady we entertained last night put that into your head?"

"She put several things into my head," Richard admitted, "but not that.
Will you go, sir? It's fully time now, I believe."

Matthew Kendrick's keen eyes continued to search his grandson's face, to
Richard's inner confusion. Outwardly, the younger man maintained an
attitude of dignified questioning.

"I am willing to go," said Mr. Kendrick, after a moment.

At St. Luke's, that morning, from her place in the family pew, Ruth
Gray, remembering a certain promise, looked about her as searchingly as
was possible. Nowhere within her line of vision could she discern the
figure of Richard Kendrick, but she was none the less confident that
somewhere within the stately walls of the old church he was taking part
in the impressive Christmas service. When it ended and she turned to
make her way up the aisle, leading a bevy of young cousins, her eyes,
beneath a sheltering hat-brim, darted here and there until, unexpectedly
near-by, they encountered the half-amused but wholly respectful
recognition of those they sought. As Ruth made her slow progress toward
the door she was aware that the Kendricks, elder and younger, were close
behind her, and just before the open air was reached she was able to
exchange with Richard a low-spoken question and answer.

"Wasn't it beautiful? Aren't you glad you came?"

"It _was_ beautiful, Miss Ruth--and I'm more than glad I came."

* * * * *

Several hours earlier, on that same Christmas morning, Ruth had rushed
into Roberta's room, crying out happily:

"Flowers--flowers--flowers! For you and Rosy and mother and me! They
just came. Mr. Richard Loring Kendrick's card is in ours; of course it's
in yours. Here are yours; do open the box and let me see! Mother's are
orchids, perfectly wonderful ones. Rosy's are mignonette, great
clusters, a whole armful--I didn't know florists grew such
richness--they smell like the summer kind. She's so pleased. Mine are
violets and lilies-of-the-valley. I'm perfectly crazy over them.
Yours--"

Roberta had the cover off. Roses! Somehow she had known they would be
roses--after last night. But such roses!

Ruth cried out in ecstasy, bending to bury her face in the glorious
mass. "They're exactly the colour of the old brocade frock, Robby," she
exulted. She picked up the card in its envelope. "May I look at it?" she
asked, with her fingers already in the flap. "Our