In spite of Brown’s genial greetings to his guests—­he had a special welcoming word for every one—­just at first there was a bit of stiffness.  The men showed the customary tendency to support one another through the social ordeal by standing in a solid group in a corner of the room, hands behind their backs and an air of great gravity upon their faces, while they spoke, if at all, in low and solemn tones.  The women, on the other hand, as ever, did their best to show themselves entirely at ease by addressing, one after another, remarks to their host calculated to prevent his having any doubt as to the sort of weather now prevailing outside or likely to prevail during the days to come.

Brown, having anticipated this period of gloom before the feast should actually begin, had arranged with Mrs. Kelcey that as soon as the last guest had arrived the company should sit down at the table.  Mrs. Kelcey, true to her word, gave him the nod without the delay of more than a minute or two, and promptly the company seated itself.  Brown, drawing back her chair for Mrs. Murdison, who as his most impressive guest he had placed upon his right, noticed, without seeming to notice, that the little watchmaker did the same for his wife, and with an effect of habit.  Speaking of wives, the company being left to seat themselves according to their own notion (Brown having considered the question of dinner cards and discarded it), every man sat down beside his own wife, in some instances being surreptitiously jerked into position by a careful conjugal hand.

Brown, looking about his table with a smile, bent his head.  Every eye fell and every ear listened to the words which followed:  “Our Father, we are here in company with Thee and in warm friendliness with one another.  We are thankful on this day that we are busy men and women, able to do our work and to be useful in Thy world.  Teach us to find in life the joy of living it to please Thee.  Amen.”

It was Mrs. Kelcey who broke the hush which followed, by starting from her place to run out into the kitchen and bring on the dinner.  From this moment the peculiar fitness of Donald Brown for the duties of host showed itself.  That his dinner should be stiff and solemn was not in his intention, if the informality of his own conduct could prevent it.  He therefore jumped up from his own place to follow Mrs. Kelcey to the kitchen and bring in the great platter for her, bearing the turkey in a garland of celery leaves, a miracle of luscious-looking brownness.

He had considered the feasibility of serving at least one preliminary course, not so much because it seemed to him impossible to plunge at once into the heartiness of fowl and stuffing as because he wanted to prolong the hour of dining for his guests.  But Mrs. Kelcey had promptly vetoed this notion.