“From here,” he said, “where are you going?”

“Home.  I mean to Mother McNeil’s.  Carmencita says you and she have done my shopping.”  She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water to her lips.  “The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night the children come.”

“And I—­when can I come?”

“You?” She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and eating as much of it as they wanted.  “I don’t know.  I am very busy.  After Christmas, perhaps.”

“You mean for me there is to be no Christmas?  Am I to be for ever kept outside, Frances?”

“Outside?” She looked up and away.  “I have no home.  We are both—­outside.  To have no home at Christmas is—­” Quickly she got up.  “We must go.  It is getting late, and there is much to do.”

For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went toward the door.  On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand.  “Good-by, Mr. Van Landing.  I hope you will have a happy Christmas.”

“Do you?” Van Landing opened the cab door.  “Get in, please.  I will come in another cab.”  Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles and made room for Carmencita.  “I’ll be around at four to help dress the tree.  Wait until I come.”  He nodded to the cabman; then, lifting his hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away.

“Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!” Into the child’s eyes the beautiful ones of her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady hands held those of Carmencita with frightened force.  “What have you done?  What have you done?”

“Done?” Carmencita’s fingers twisted into those of her beloved, and her laugh was joyous.  “Done!  Not much yet.  I’ve just begun.  Did—­did you know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances?  You are.  It’s—­it’s alive!”

CHAPTER XV

The time intervening before his return to help with the tree was spent by Van Landing in a certain establishment where jewels were kept and in telephoning Peterkin; and the orders to Peterkin were many.  At four o’clock he was back at Mother McNeil’s.

In the double parlor of the old-fashioned house, once the home of wealth and power, the tree was already in place, and around it, in crowded confusion, were boxes and barrels, and bundles and toys, and clothes and shoes, and articles of unknown name and purpose, and for a moment he hesitated.  Hands in his pockets, he looked first at Mother McNeil and then at a little lame boy on the floor beside an open trunk, out of which he was taking gaily-colored ornaments and untangling yards of tinsel; and then he looked at Frances, who, with a big apron over her black dress, with its soft white collar open at the throat, was holding a pile of empty stockings in her hands.