--and
you can ask the boys who the damnedest liar is.'"

When the merriment and laughter had subsided, Hallam told another
story rather successfully; then Hammond told another. Then Dr.
West returned; the tiny Christmas tree, cut in the forest, and
loaded with beribboned cakes and sticks of chocolate and a few
presents tied in tissue-paper, was merrily despoiled.

Ailsa and Letty had worked slippers for the two doctors, greatly
appreciated by them, apparently; Hallam had some embroidered
handkerchiefs from Ailsa, and she received a chain and locket from
him--and refrained from opening the locket, although everybody
already had surmised that their engagement was a fact.

Letty sent an orderly for her guitar, and sang very sweetly an
old-fashioned song:

"When the moonlight
Shines bright
Silvery bright on the sea."

Ailsa sang "Aileen Aroon," and "Oft in the Stilly Night," and
everybody, later, sang "The Poor Old Soldier."

The fire glowed red in the chimney; gigantic shadows wavered on
wall and ceiling; and, through the Christmas candles dimly burning,
the branches of the little evergreen spread, laden with cake and
candy.

"They're to have a tree in every ward to-morrow," said Ailsa,
turning toward Hallam. Her eyes smiled, but her voice was
spiritless. A tinge of sadness had somehow settled over the
festivity; Hammond was staring at the fire, chin in hand; West
sipped his wine reflectively; Letty's idle fingers touched her
guitar at intervals, as her dark eyes rested on Ailsa and Hallam.

Hallam had found in camp a copy of a Southern newspaper; and,
thinking it might amuse the company to read it, produced it.
Ailsa, looking over his shoulder, noticed a poem called
"Christmas," printed on the first page.

"Read it aloud," he said, laughing. "Let's hear what sort of
Christmas poetry the Johnnies produce."

So, after smilingly scanning the first lines, she began, aloud; but
her face had grown very grave, and her low voice thrilled them as
she became conscious of the deeper sadness of the verse.

"How grace this Hallowed Day?
Shall happy bells from yonder ancient spire
Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire
Round which our children play?

"How shall we grace the Day?
With feast and song and dance and homely sport,
And shout of happy children in the court,
And tales of ghost and fay?

"Is there indeed a door
Where the old pastimes with their joyful nois