Well, if he could not be brave, she must be.  She began to tell him about going to California, to Grandfather’s house.  Later she put the orange, the apple, the gun, with a triangle puzzle given away at the drug store, a paper cow from the dairy, and five cents’ worth of pressed figs, into the little dangling stocking, placed the book beside it, and hung the candy cane over all.  Mrs. Converse, the doctor’s wife, had sent a big flannel duck, obviously second-hand, but none the less wonderful for that, for Margar; Teddy had not seen it, so it would be one more Christmas touch!

And at eight o’clock, as she was putting her kitchen in order, a tired driver appeared, clumsily engineering something through the narrow hall; a great coaster, its brave red and gold showing through the flimsy, snow-wet wrappings.

“Teddy from Dad,” Martie, bewildered, read on the card.  Not to the excited child himself would it bring the joy it gave his mother.  Poor Wallace—­always generous!  He had gone straight from her plea for the boy’s Christmas to spend his money for this.  She hoped he would come home to-morrow; that they might spend the day together.  Some of the shops would be open for a few hours; if he brought home money, she could manage a chicken, and one of the puddings from the French confectioner’s—­

Another ring at the bell?  Martie wiped her hands, and went again to the door.  A telegram—­

She tore and crumpled the wet yellow paper.  The wonderful words danced before her eyes: 

Pa says come at once told Lydia he would give you and children home as long as he lives sends his love merry Christmas darling

Sally.

Martie went back to the kitchen, and put her head down on the little table and cried.

Wallace did not come home for Christmas Day, nor for many days.  Teddy rejoiced in his coaster while his mother went soberly and swiftly about her plans.  Perhaps Pa had realized that she did not actually have a cent, and was sending a check by mail.  The perfect telegram would have been just a little more than perfect, if he had said so.  But if he were not sending money, she must go nevertheless.  She must give up this house on January tenth, landlord and grocer must trust her for the overdue rent and bill.  If they would not, well, then they must have her arrested; that was all.

The fare to California would be less than two hundred dollars.  She was going to borrow that from John.

Martie herself was surprised at the calm with which she came to this decision.  It had all the force of finality to her.  She cared for the hurt to her pride as little as she cared for what Rose Parker would think of her ignominious return, as little as she cared for what the world thought of a wife who deliberately left the father of her children to his fate.