very fond of her, but at the times of family reunion Nanny
was unconsciously counted out. There was no bond of blood to unite her
to them, and she was left on the fringe of things. Nanny never
resented this--it was all a matter of course to her; but on this
Christmas Eve her heart was broken because she thought that nobody
remembered Miss Avis.

After supper they all gathered around the open fireplace of the hall,
hung with its berries and evergreens in honour of the morrow. It was
their unwritten law to form a fireside circle on Christmas Eve and
tell each other what the year had brought them of good and ill, sorrow
and joy. The circle was smaller by one than it had been the year
before, but none spoke of that. There was a smile on every face and
happiness in every voice.

The father and mother sat in the centre, grey-haired and placid, their
fine old faces written over with the history of gracious lives. Beside
the mother, Doctor Fritz sat like a boy, on the floor, with his
massive head, grey as his father's, on her lap, and one of his smooth,
muscular hands, that were as tender as a woman's at the operating
table, clasped in hers. Next to him sat sweet Nora, the
twenty-year-old "baby," who taught in a city school; the rosy
firelight gleamed lovingly over her girlish beauty of burnished brown
hair, dreamy blue eyes, and soft, virginal curves of cheek and throat.
Doctor Fritz's spare arm was about her, but Nora's own hands were
clasped over her knee, and on one of them sparkled a diamond that had
not been there at the last Christmas reunion. Laddie, who figured as
Archibald only in the family Bible, sat close to the inglenook--a
handsome young fellow with a daring brow and rollicking eyes. On the
other side sat Margaret, hand in hand with her father, a woman whose
gracious sweetness of nature enveloped her as a garment; and Robert's
two laughing boys filled up the circle, looking so much alike that it
was hard to say which was Cecil and which was Sid.

Margaret's husband and Fritz's wife were playing games with the
children in the parlour, whence shrieks of merriment drifted out into
the hall. Nanny might have been with them had she chosen, but she
preferred to sit alone in the darkest corner of the hall and gaze with
jealous, unhappy eyes at the mirthful group about the fire, listening
to their story and jest and laughter with unavailing protest in her
heart. Oh, how could they have forgotten so soon? It was not ye