This was the accepted key to a confessional ceremony which required much politeness and ruthless honesty.

“Well, Mr. Hildreth,” began the Doctor formally.

Roger’s face fell.

“I’m your adopted son,” he hinted, “and you said that made my name same as yours.”

“Mr. Leslie!” corrected the Doctor, and Roger glowed.

“Well, Mr. Leslie,” went on the Doctor thoughtfully, “I’m chuck full of grievances.  There’s the rheumatism in my leg, for instance.  That’s no sort of thing to have at Christmas.”

“But that’s better,” said Roger.  “You said so this morning.  I ’spect you been thinkin’ too much about it like you said I did when my leg was stiff.”

“Ahem!  And I did hope somebody would come home for Christmas.  I like a house full of romping youngsters—­”

Roger pointed an accusing finger.

“Aunt Ellen says every blessed one of your children, an’ your grand-children too, begged and begged you to come to the city for Christmas an’—­an’ you wouldn’t go ’cause you’re old-fashioned and like a country Christmas so much better—­an’—­an’ because you’d promised to teach me to skate on the Deacon’s pond an’ take me sleighin’.”

“Dear me,” said the Doctor helplessly, “for such a mite of a kiddy, you do seem remarkably well informed.”

“Man to man,” reminded Roger inexorably and the Doctor aired his final grievance.

“And then there’s that youngest son of mine—­”

“Doctor Ralph?”

“Doctor Ralph!  What right had he, I’d like to know, to marry that pretty sister of yours and go off honeymooning holiday time.  Didn’t he know that we needed him and Sister Madge here for Christmas?  I miss ’em both.  Young pirate!”

Roger’s heart swelled with loyalty.  It was Doctor Ralph’s skilful hand that had helped him walk.

“Most likely,” he said fairly, “I’m a little to blame there.  After I came home from the hospital, I did tell Sister Madge to marry him—­”

“Most likely,” acknowledged the Doctor, “I said something similar to Doctor Ralph.  I can’t have you shouldering all the responsibility.  Well, your Honor, there’s the Christmas evidence.  What’s the verdict?”

Roger considered.  This man to man game had certain phraseological conclusions.

“No case!” he said suddenly, nor would he alter his decision when the Doctor protested against its severity.

“You had so awful many peoply sort of places to go,” pointed out Roger, and the Doctor laughed.

“And let you spend this first Christmas on your two legs in a city?” he demanded.  “Well, I guess not!  No-sir-ee-bob!  There!—­the alder berries have faded out and the garden’s thick with twilight.”

“And it’s Christmas eve!” cried Roger, his black eyes shining with delight.

“Speaking of Christmas,” said the Doctor, sniffing luxuriously, “I feel that I ought to slip out to the kitchen for a minute or so.  I do smell something tremendously Christmasy and spicy—­”