The second day of his visit Courtland had made an errand with Bonnie to town to send off several telegrams.  As a result a lot of things arrived for him the day before Christmas, marked “Rush!” They were smuggled into the parlor, behind the Christmas tree, with great secrecy after dark by Bonnie and Courtland; and covered with the buffalo robes from the car till morning.  There was a big leather chair with air-cushions for Father Marshall; its mate in lady’s size for Mother; a set of encyclopedias that he had heard Father say he wished he had; a lot of silver forks and spoons for Mother, who had apologized for the silver being rubbed off of some of hers.  There were two sets of books in wonderful leather bindings that he had heard Bonnie say she longed to read, and there was the tiniest little gold watch, about which he had been in terrible doubt ever since he had sent for it.  Suppose Bonnie should think it wrong to accept it when she had known him so short a time!  How was he going to make her see that it was all right?  He couldn’t tell her she was a sort of a sister of his, for he didn’t want her for a sister.  He puzzled over that question whenever he had time, which wasn’t often, because he was so busy and so happy every minute.

Then there were great five-pound boxes of chocolates, glaced nuts and bonbons, and a crate of foreign fruits, with nuts, raisins, figs, and dates.  There was a long, deep box from the nearest city filled with the most wonderful hothouse blossoms:  roses, lilies, sweet peas, violets, gardenias, and even orchids.  Courtland had never enjoyed spending money so much in all his life.  He only wished he could get back to the city for a couple of hours and buy a lot more things.

To paint the picture of Mother Marshall when she sat on her new air-cushions and counted her spoons and forks—­real silver forks beyond all her dreamings!—­to show Father Marshall, as he wiped his spectacles and bent, beaming, over the encyclopedias or rested his gray head back against the cushions!  Ah!  That would be the work of an artist who could catch the glory that shines deeper than faces and reaches souls!  As for Courtland, he was too much taken up watching Bonnie’s face when she opened her books, looking deep into her eyes as she looked up from the little velvet case where the watch ticked softly into her wondering ears; seeing the breathlessness with which she lifted the flowers from their bed among the ferns and placed them reverently in jars and pitchers around the room.

It was a wonderful Christmas!  The first real Christmas Courtland had ever known.  Sitting in the dim firelight between dusk and darkness, watching Bonnie at the piano, listening to the tender Christmas music she was playing, joining his sweet tenor in with her clear soprano now and then, Courtland suddenly thought of Tennelly, off at Palm Beach, doing the correct thing in wedding trips with Gila.  Poor Tennelly!  How little he would be getting of the real joy of Christmas!  How little he would understand the wonderful peace that settled down in the heart of his friend when, later, they all knelt in the firelight, and Father Marshall prayed, as if he were talking to One who stood there close beside him, whose companionship had been a life experience.