“Would you?” Dorothea’s arms were around her uncle’s neck, and her head nodded at his.  “Would you?”

“I would not.”  Laine’s voice was a little queer.  “The punishment is all at this end.  I would rather spend Christmas at Elmwood than anywhere on earth.  But your Cousin Claudia will not let me, Dorothea.”

“Won’t you really?” Dorothea slipped from his lap, and, with hands on the arms of Claudia’s chair, gazed anxiously in her eyes.  “He’ll be all alone if you don’t.  Please ask him, Cousin Claudia!  You said yourself there was always so much company at Elmwood that one more never mattered and you managed to put them somewhere.  Please—­oh, please ask him, Cousin Claudia!”

Claudia kissed the lips held close to her own.  “I think it is time for you to be in bed, Dorothea.  You are making your uncle say things he doesn’t mean.  He can come to Elmwood if he wishes, but—­”

Dorothea sprang back and, with arms extended and fingers flipping, danced round and round the room.  “How magnificent!  Now I won’t have a thing on my mind!” With a last whirl she jumped in Laine’s lap and took his hands in hers.  “That’s the only thing I hated about Christmas, your being here all by yourself.”  She gave a deep breath.  “And now you’ll be in that heavenly place with Cousin Claudia.  When I get big I’m going there and hunt by the light of the moon, and hear the darkies sing when they’re having a party with possum and hoe-cake, and—­” She sat upright.  “Did you know Cousin Claudia was going home to-morrow?”

Laine nodded.  Speech had suddenly left him.  He did not know whether to take Dorothea in the next room and lock her up or hold her close to his heart.  What had the child done and made Claudia do?  Christmas at Elmwood!  His blood surged thickly, and as Dorothea settled back in his arms he looked up and met Claudia’s eyes.

“I’m so scrumptious happy I feel like I’m in heaven!” Dorothea wriggled in sleepy content.  “Please finish that story you were telling when Uncle Winthrop came in, Cousin Claudia.  You had gotten to where the little boy and the little girl were knocking at the door of the big house with the wreaths in the windows, and it was snowing.  I couldn’t sleep to save my life if I didn’t know whether they got in or not.  Please finish it.”

Claudia hesitated, then, changing Channing’s position, finished the story and glanced at the clock.  “It is time for you to be in bed, Dorothea.  I have some notes to write and some packing to—­”

“Just one more and that’s all.”  Dorothea cuddled closer.  “It’s so nice and home-y with just us in here.  Please don’t make me go yet.  Tell Uncle Winthrop a story”—­she blinked bravely—­“and then I’ll go—­to—­bed.”

Laine leaned back and turned off the light from the lamp on the table behind him, and as the firelight played on Claudia’s soft, blue dress, on the slippered feet tapping the stool on which they rested, ran up to the open throat and touched the brown hair, parted and brushed back in simple fashion, he held Dorothea close lest words he must not speak be spoken.  Presently he looked toward her.