A little old lady, with hair as white as the snow itself, her cheeks
bright with color, her eyes very tender, appeared in the library window
as the song ended. She had concealed herself in the folds of the curtain
while the singing went on, fearing it might come to a sudden stop should
she reveal herself.

Her appearance, however, inspired the singers to fresh effort, for,
immediately they spied her, led by Nora, they burst into the old English
carol, "God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen." They sang it with their rosy,
eager faces raised to her, a world of fellowship in every note, while
she stood motionless and listened, a smile of supreme love and content
making her delicate features radiant.

As they ended this second carol she raised the window. "Come in, this
minute, every one of you blessed children. You can't possibly know how
happy you have made me this Christmas Eve."

"Coming right in the window," declared Hippy, as he made an ineffectual
spring and failed to land on the wide sill.

"Just as I expected," jeered Reddy Brooks, dragging him back. "You might
know Hippy would spoil everything. We all start out, on our best
behavior, to sing carols to our fairy godmother. Then at the most
effective moment, when we are feeling almost inspired, he ruins the
whole effect by trying to jump in the window."

"He might as well try to jump through a ten-inch hoop," seconded David.
"He'd be just as successful."

"They are slandering me, Nora," whimpered Hippy, "and I am the sweetest
carol singer of them all. Protect me, Nora. Tell Reddy Brooks it was his
singing that nearly ruined that last carol. Tell him his voice is as
loud and obnoxious as his hair. And tell David Nesbit that--" Hippy gave
a sudden agile bound out of reach of Reddy's avenging hands, and tore
across the lawn and around the corner of the house, shrieking a wild,
"Good-bye, Nora. Remember I've always been a good, kind husband to you.
Don't forget me, Nora."

[Illustration: "Holy Night, Peaceful and Blest."]

"I'll pay him yet for that remark about my obnoxious hair," grinned
Reddy, as the carol singers trooped across the lawn and into the house.

Mrs. Gray met her Christmas children with welcoming arms. "I am going to
kiss every one of you," she announced.

"We are willing," assured David, and she was passed from one pair of
arms to another, emerging from this wholesale embrace, flushed and
laughing.

"You didn't kiss me," observed a plaintive voice