Just at dinner-time came a great crate of violets.  “Jo’s favorites, from Stewart!” said Anna softly, filling bowls with them.  And, as if the thought of Josephine had suggested it, she added to Philip in a low tone: 

“Listen, Phil, are we going to sing to-night?”

For from babyhood, on the eve of the feast, the Carrolls had gathered at the piano for the Christmas songs, before they looked at their gifts.

“What do you think?” Philip returned, troubled.

“Oh, I couldn’t—–­” Betts began, choking.

Jimmy gave them all a disgusted and astonished look.

“Gee, why not?” he demanded.  “Jo used to love it!”

“How about it, Sue?” Philip asked.  Susan stopped short in her work, her hands full of violets, and pondered.

“I think we ought to,” she said at last.

“I do, too!” Billy supported her unexpectedly.  “Jo’d be the first to say so.  And if we don’t this Christmas, we never will again!”

“Your mother taught you to,” Susan said, earnestly, “and she didn’t stop it when your father died.  We’ll have other breaks in the circle some day, but we’ll want to go right on doing it, and teaching our own children to do it!”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Anna, “that settles it.”

Nothing more was said on the subject; the girls busied themselves with the dinner dishes.  Phil and Billy drew the nails from the waiting Christmas boxes.  Jim cracked nuts for the Christmas dinner.  It was after nine o’clock when the kitchen was in order, the breakfast table set, and the sitting-room made ready for the evening’s excitement.  Then Susan went to the old square piano and opened it, and Phil, in absolute silence, found her the music she wanted among the long-unused sheets of music on the piano.

“If we are going to do this,” said Philip then, “we mustn’t break down!”

“Nope,” said Betts, at whom the remark seemed to be directed, with a gulp.  Susan, whose hands were very cold, struck the opening chords, and a moment later the young voices rose together, through the silent house.

   “Adeste, fideles,
    Laeti triumphantes,
    Venite, venite in Bethlehem....”

Josephine had always sung the little solo.  Susan felt it coming, and she and Betts took it together, joined on the second phrase by Anna’s rich, deep contralto.  They were all too conscious of their mother’s overhearing to think of themselves at all.  Presently the voices became more natural.  It was just the Carroll children singing their Christmas hymns, as they had sung them all their lives.  One of their number was gone now; sorrow had stamped all the young faces with new lines, but the little circle was drawn all the closer for that.  Phil’s arm was tight about the little brother’s shoulder, Betts and Anna were clinging to each other.

And as Susan reached the triumphant “Gloria—­gloria!” a thrill shook her from head to foot.  She had not heard a footstep, above the singing, but she knew whose fingers were gripping her shoulder, she knew whose sweet unsteady voice was added to the younger voices.