“I was a snob, that’s all,” said she, “just a plain, low down snob.  You don’t understand what that means, because you’re not one.” (Cynthia did understand, ) “But I like you, and I want you to be my friend.  Perhaps when I get to know you better, you will come home with me sometime for a visit.”

Go home with her for a visit to that house in Washington Square with the picture gallery!

“I want to say that I’d give my head to have been able to turn my back on Miss Sadler as you did,” continued Miss Broke; “if you ever want a friend, remember Sally Broke.”

Some of Cynthia’s trouble, at least, was mitigated by this episode; and Miss Broke having led the way, Miss Broke’s followers came shyly, one by one, with proffers of friendship.  To the good-hearted Merrill girls the walk home that day was a kind of a triumphal march, a victory over Miss Sadler and a vindication of their friend.  Mrs. Merrill, when she heard of it, could not find it in her heart to reprove Cynthia.  Miss Sadler had got her just deserts.  But Miss Sadler was not a person who was likely to forget such an incident.  Indeed, Mrs. Merrill half expected to receive a note before the holidays ended that Cynthia’s presence was no longer desired at the school.  No such note came, however.

If one had to be away from home on Christmas, there could surely be no better place to spend that day than in the Merrill household.  Cynthia remembers still, when that blessed season comes around, how each member of the family vied with the others to make her happy; how they showered presents on her, and how they strove to include her in the laughter and jokes at the big family dinner.  Mr. Merrill’s brother was there with his wife, and Mrs. Merrill’s aunt and her husband, and two broods of cousins.  It may be well to mention that the Merrill relations, like Sally Broke, had overcome their dislike for Cynthia.

There were eatables from Coniston on that board.  A turkey sent by Jethro for which, Mr. Merrill declared, the table would have to be strengthened; a saddle of venison—­Lem Hallowell having shot a deer on the mountain two Sundays before; and mince-meat made by Amanda Hatch herself.  Other presents had come to Cynthia from the hills:  a gorgeous copy of Mr. Longfellow’s poems from Cousin Ephraim, and a gold locket from Uncle Jethro.  This locket was the precise counterpart (had she but known it) of a silver one bought at Mr. Judson’s shop many years before, though the inscription “Cynthy, from Uncle Jethro,” was within.  Into the other side exactly fitted that daguerreotype of her mother which her father had given her when he died.  The locket had a gold chain with a clasp, and Cynthia wore it hidden beneath her gown-too intimate a possession to be shown.