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adjusted a flute which hung from his shoulder by a scarlet cord and lazily piping a Christmas air, wandered to another room--to come suddenly upon a forgotten playmate of his boyhood days. "It--it can't be!" he reflected in startled interest. "It surely can't be Madge Hildreth!" But Madge Hildreth it surely was, spreading the satin folds of his grandmother's crimson gown in mocking courtesy. Moreover it was not the awkward, ragged elfish little gipsy who had tormented his debonair boyhood with her shy ardent worship of himself and his daring exploits, but instead a winsome vision of Christmas color and Christmas cheer, holly-red of cheek, with flashes of scarlet holly in her night black hair and eyes whose unfathomable dusk reflected no single hint of that old, wild worship slumbering still in the girl's rebellious heart. "And the symbolism of this stunning make-up?" queried Ralph after a while, lazily admiring. The girl's eyes flashed. "To-night, if you please," she said, "I am the spirit of the old-fashioned Christmas who dwells in the holly heart of the evergreen wood. A _country_ Christmas, ruddy-cheeked and cheerful and rugged like the winter holly--simple and old-fashioned and hallowed with memories like this bright soft crimson gown!" Well, she had been a queer, fanciful youngster too, Doctor Ralph remembered, always passionately aquiver with a wild sylvan poetry and over-fond of book-lore like her father. Mischievously glancing at a spray of mistletoe above the girl's dark head, he stepped forward with the careless gallantry that had won him many a kindly glance from pretty eyes and was strangely to fail him now. For at the look in Madge's calm eyes, he drew back, stammering. "I--I beg your pardon!" said Doctor Ralph. Later as he stood thoughtfully by his bedroom window, staring queerly at the wind-beaten elms, he found himself repeating Madge Hildreth's words. "Ruddy-cheeked and rugged and cheerful!"--indeed--this unforgettable Christmas eve. Yes--she was right. Had he not often heard his father say that the Christmas season epitomized all the rugged sympathy and heartiness and health of the country year! To-night the blazing Yule-log, his mother's face--how white her hair was growing, thought Doctor Ralph with a sudden tightening of his throat--all of these memories had strummed forgotten and finer chords. And darkly foiling the homely brightness came the picture of rushing, overstrung, bund
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