It was Christmas time before Julia saw Doctor Studdiford again, and then it was but for a few minutes.  Christmas Eve was wet and blowy out of doors, but the assembly hall of The Alexander looked warm and bright; there were painfully made garlands of green looped about the windows, bells of red paper hung from all the chandeliers, and on the stage an enormous Christmas tree glittered with colour and light.  Six hundred people were crowded into the room, more than half of them children.  Babies twisted and climbed on the laps of their radiant mothers, small girls and boys everywhere were restless with excitement and anticipation.  Miss Toland only appeared at intervals, spending most of the afternoon with a few chosen guests in the reception hall, but Julia was everywhere at once.  She wore a plain white linen gown, with a bit of holly in her hair and on her breast, and whether she was marshalling small girls into groups, stopping to admire a new baby, meeting the confectioner’s men and their immense freezers at the draughty side door, talking shyly with the directors in Miss Toland’s room, or consoling some weeping infant in the hall, she was followed by admiring eyes.

At three o’clock the general restlessness visibly increased, and the air in the hall, between steaming wet garments and perspiring humanity, became almost insufferable.  Julia experimentally opened a door and let in a wet blast of air, but this was too drastic, and her eyes were brought back from a wistful study of the high windows by a voice that said: 

“Merry Christmas!  Give me a stick, and I’ll do it for you!”

The girl found her hand in Doctor Studdiford’s, and their eyes met.

“I didn’t know you were here!” said Julia, in swift memory of their last meeting.

“Just come.”  He looked at her, all kindliness.  “How goes it?”

“Finely,” Julia answered.  When he had opened a window, he followed her across the room.  “I may stay near you, mayn’t I?”

“I am just going to begin,” Julia said, taking her place at the piano, and facing the room across the top of it.  Her small person seemed suddenly fired with authority.  She struck a full chord.  “Children!” she said.  “Children!  Who is talking?  Some one is still talking!  Keep still, everybody, please!  Keep still, every one.

“Now we are going to sing the ’Adeste’—­four verses.  And then we’ll give out the presents.  Listen, every one!  We are going to sing the ‘Adeste,’ and then give out the presents.  The presents, of course, go only to our own girls and boys, do you understand that?  Listen, children, please!

“But we have a box of candy for every child here, whether that child comes to any of the classes or not!  So don’t go home without your candy.  And don’t come up for your present until you hear your name called, do you understand that?  If I see any child coming up before Miss Pierce calls her name, I’ll send her right back to her seat!  Now, the ‘Adeste,’ please!”