ng the song of Home, Sweet Home, the song that touched my heart."
But this did not surprise Thea; as Ray said later in the evening, "the
cards had been stacked against her from the beginning." The next issue
of the GLEAM correctly stated that "unquestionably the honors of the
evening must be accorded to Miss Lily Fisher." The Baptists had
everything their own way.

After the concert Ray Kennedy joined the Kronborgs' party and walked
home with them. Thea was grateful for his silent sympathy, even while it
irritated her. She inwardly vowed that she would never take another
lesson from old Wunsch. She wished that her father would not keep
cheerfully singing, "When Shepherds Watched," as he marched ahead,
carrying Thor. She felt that silence would become the Kronborgs for a
while. As a family, they somehow seemed a little ridiculous, trooping
along in the starlight. There were so many of them, for one thing. Then
Tillie was so absurd. She was giggling and talking to Anna just as if
she had not made, as even Mrs. Kronborg admitted, an exhibition of
herself.

When they got home, Ray took a box from his overcoat pocket and slipped
it into Thea's hand as he said goodnight. They all hurried in to the
glowing stove in the parlor. The sleepy children were sent to bed. Mrs.
Kronborg and Anna stayed up to fill the stockings.

"I guess you're tired, Thea. You needn't stay up." Mrs. Kronborg's clear
and seemingly indifferent eye usually measured Thea pretty accurately.

Thea hesitated. She glanced at the presents laid out on the dining-room
table, but they looked unattractive. Even the brown plush monkey she had
bought for Thor with such enthusiasm seemed to have lost his wise and
humorous expression. She murmured, "All right," to her mother, lit her
lantern, and went upstairs.

Ray's box contained a hand-painted white satin fan, with pond lilies--an
unfortunate reminder. Thea smiled grimly and tossed it into her upper
drawer. She was not to be consoled by toys. She undressed quickly and
stood for some time in the cold, frowning in the broken looking glass at
her flaxen pig-tails, at her white neck and arms. Her own broad,
resolute face set its chin at her, her eyes flashed into her own
defiantly. Lily Fisher was pretty, and she was willing to be just as big
a fool as people wanted her to be. Very well; Thea Kronborg wasn't. She
would rather be hated than be stupid, any day. She popped into bed and
read stubbornly at a queer pape