dow seat,
at the head of the stairs. He had been despatched by his mother to tell
her that some of her friends were in the drawing-room.

"If she doesn't want to come don't urge her," she had warned him. "I'll
make some excuse."

"Bobby, I just can't," Polly said when he had told her. "My eyes are all
swollen and I've such a headache."

"What you need is air," Bob said decidedly. "Go get your coat and hat,
and we'll fly off with Banker for a little ride. Come on, Poll," he
coaxed, "it will do you loads of good."

Polly gave in reluctantly.

"Where are we going?" she asked when they were in the sleigh.

"Never mind, I've a scheme," Bob told her. "Shut your eyes." He headed
the pony toward the bay. The cold air acted as a tonic on Polly. By the
time they stopped before an old tumble down fisherman's hut, she was
quite herself again.

"Why, it's Uncle Cy's place!" she exclaimed. "Bobby, how did you ever
think of him?"

They pushed open the door, without knocking, and entered the one little
room that served for all purposes.

Uncle Cy was one of Polly's earliest and best of friends; he was an old
fisherman. They had spent many long, happy days together, when she was a
little girl. He welcomed her heartily.

"Why, Miss Polly. I was beginning to think I'd have to go one Christmas
without a word from you," he said. "How are you? You're getting mighty
handsome," he teased "and I'm sorry to see it. I never did hold with
handsome women. 'Handsome is as handsome does,' I always say," he added
with a wink. "And you, Mr. Bob, how do you do again? That basket you
brought me this morning was mighty good," he said with a chuckle.

"We're just here for a second," Polly explained. "Banker's freezing
outside. Have you had a Merry Christmas?" she asked brightly. No one
could be unhappy long under the spell of Uncle Cy's genial smile.

"Fair to middling," the old man answered, contentedly. "Have a seat," he
offered.

They stayed chatting for a few minutes more, and then returned to the
sleigh.

"The old darling," Polly laughed, "he hasn't changed a bit."

When they reached home, they stole in the back way. One of Lois' merry
laughs greeted them as they entered.

"Jimmy, you wretch," they heard her cry.

"What's the matter, Lo?" Bob inquired from the door of the drawing-room.

Lois looked up in confusion.

"Jim kissed me under the mistletoe," she said, "after I'd expressly told
him not to."

Polly joined in the lau