“I can’t imagine Miss Roberta’s failing in anything she chose to attempt,” was his joyous comment.

“She certainly failed in that.”  Aunt Ruth seemed rather pleased herself at the thought.  “But then she didn’t really go into it seriously—­it was because Louis put her up to it—­told her she couldn’t do it.  She only really tried it once—­and then spent the rest of the morning washing her hair.  Such a task—­it’s so heavy and curly—­” Aunt Ruth suddenly stopped talking about Roberta, as if it had occurred to her that this young man looked altogether too interested in such trifles as the dressing of certain thick, dark locks.

Presently, the mending over, the Grays were taken, according to promise, back to the Christmas celebrations in the other house, and Richard, returning to his grandfather, proposed, with some unwonted diffidence of manner, that the two attend service together at St. Luke’s.

The old man looked up at his grandson, astonishment in his face.

“Church, Dick—­with you?” he repeated.  “Why, I—­” He hesitated.  “Did the little lady we entertained last night put that into your head?”

“She put several things into my head,” Richard admitted, “but not that.  Will you go, sir?  It’s fully time now, I believe.”

Matthew Kendrick’s keen eyes continued to search his grandson’s face, to Richard’s inner confusion.  Outwardly, the younger man maintained an attitude of dignified questioning.

“I am willing to go,” said Mr. Kendrick, after a moment.

At St. Luke’s, that morning, from her place in the family pew, Ruth Gray, remembering a certain promise, looked about her as searchingly as was possible.  Nowhere within her line of vision could she discern the figure of Richard Kendrick, but she was none the less confident that somewhere within the stately walls of the old church he was taking part in the impressive Christmas service.  When it ended and she turned to make her way up the aisle, leading a bevy of young cousins, her eyes, beneath a sheltering hat-brim, darted here and there until, unexpectedly near-by, they encountered the half-amused but wholly respectful recognition of those they sought.  As Ruth made her slow progress toward the door she was aware that the Kendricks, elder and younger, were close behind her, and just before the open air was reached she was able to exchange with Richard a low-spoken question and answer.

“Wasn’t it beautiful?  Aren’t you glad you came?”

“It was beautiful, Miss Ruth—­and I’m more than glad I came.”

* * * * *

Several hours earlier, on that same Christmas morning, Ruth had rushed into Roberta’s room, crying out happily: 

“Flowers—­flowers—­flowers!  For you and Rosy and mother and me!  They just came.  Mr. Richard Loring Kendrick’s card is in ours; of course it’s in yours.  Here are yours; do open the box and let me see!  Mother’s are orchids, perfectly wonderful ones.  Rosy’s are mignonette, great clusters, a whole armful—­I didn’t know florists grew such richness—­they smell like the summer kind.  She’s so pleased.  Mine are violets and lilies-of-the-valley.  I’m perfectly crazy over them.  Yours—­”