breast, opened a drawing-room door, stepped to Neal's side, and
whispered,--

"Introduce me!"

"My sister," said Neal, recovering self-possession. "Myrtle, I believe
I'll let you guess for yourself which is Garst and which is Sinclair."

"Well, I've heard so much about you for the past two years that I know
you already, all but your looks. So I'm sure to guess right," said
Myrtle Farrar, scrutinizing the Americans with a pretty welcoming
glance, then giving to each a glad hand-shake.

Royal's tongue grew for once less active than his eyes, which were so
caught by the golden shades on the pheasant-like head that for a minute
he could see nothing else. Even Cyrus, who was accustomed to look upon
himself as the cool-blooded senior among his band of intimates, tingled
a little.

"You're just in time for dinner--I'm so glad," laughed Miss Myrtle. "A
Christmas dinner with a whole tribe of Farrars, big and little."

"But our baggage hasn't come on yet," answered Garst ruefully. "Will
Mrs. Farrar excuse our appearing in travelling rig?"

"Indeed she will!" answered for herself a fair, motherly-looking English
woman, as pretty as Myrtle save for the gold-brown hair, while she came
a few steps into the hall to welcome her sons' friends.

Five minutes afterwards the Americans found themselves seated at a table
garlanded with red-berried holly, trailing ivy, and pearl-eyed
mistletoe, and surrounded by a round dozen of Farrars, including several
youngsters whose general place was in schoolroom or nursery, but who,
even to a tot of three, were promoted to dine in splendor on Christmas
Day.

"Well, this is festive!" remarked Cyrus to Myrtle, who sat next to him,
when, after much preparatory feasting, an English plum-pudding,
wreathed, decorated, and steaming, came upon the scene. Fluttering amid
the almonds which studded its top were two wee pink-stemmed flags. And
here again, in compliment to the newly arrived guests, the
"Star-Spangled Banner" kissed the English Union Jack.

"Say, Neal!" exclaimed Cyrus, his eyes keenly bright as he looked at the
toy standards, "wouldn't this sort of thing delight our friend Doc? By
the way, that reminds me, I have a package for you from him, and a
message from Herb Heal too. Herb wants to know 'when those gamy
Britishers are coming out to hunt moose again?' And Doc has sent you a
little bundle of beaver-clippings. They are from an ash-tree two feet in
circumference, felled by that beave