He loved the open: there was no loneliness here.... Magic-wrought,
Deane's phantom figure kept apace, matched step with step along the
shore trail through the hushed woods, across the white sheen of open
spaces. Ever, when summoned thus, she came to share the hours and the
places that he loved best.

Love surged hot through his veins: love of friends, of living, of
youth, love of a woman ... probably his gift lay at her bedside now,
as she slept....

Unconsciously he slowed his pace and lifted his fine, pale face
upward: his low, clear baritone flooded the broken woods, carried far
out across the silent frozen lake, unechoed; it was vibrant with the
very spirit of yuletide--love of man and woman.

Love, to share again those winged scented days,
Those starry skies:
To see once more your joyous face,
Your tender eyes:
Just to know that years so fair might come again,
Awhile:
Oh! To thrill again to your dear voice--
Your smile!

It was long past midnight when he reached town, his mood chilling
indefinably at sight of its dark houses.

"You're a queer old town," he muttered. "You go to bed on this night
of nights--yes, and you batten your windows tight against this
glorious air--and all of the other glorious things."

Passing the suspicious village constable, he penetrated even his
callous heart with the most gladsome Christmas greeting he had heard
in many a year.

Home, he stirred the dying logs into flame and sank into a deep
cushioned chair drawn up before the glowing embers. The long day had
taken no toll of his lithe frame: sleepless, he sat long in pleasant
retrospection of the day, which had brought him opportunities to
contribute to the sum of peace on earth and to give pleasure to those
whom he loved.

His gift to Deane had approached even his exacting criterion of what
was fit for her. He envied the skin its rapturous reception, the
sparkle of bright eyes its beauty would invoke. It was characteristic
that his vision did not carry him to the daily contact of pink toes he
had assigned as its function. And it was characteristic of him, too,
that he did not think of the gifts which had come for him.

He would see the elders, he mused, and apologize for what must have
seemed to them a deliberate flaunting of their standards ... he had
been a little careless, lately ... he would remedy that ... it was a
good town--his failure to settle down had been a fault ... he would