“Can we!  Well why not?  Sure!  Poor old chap!” were some of the hearty responses.

“I knew I could count upon you, so let us start at once.  Go get ready, girls.”

The girls flew to their room and a moment later came back coated and furred, for the walk up to the hospital on the hill was a bleak one.  The boys were inured to all sorts of weather, and their heavy overcoats were a safe protection against it.  It was a merry, frolicking party which set forth, and as they crossed the athletic field a lively snowballing took place, for a light snow had fallen the day before, turning the Yard into a beautiful white world.

Mrs. Harold was not to be outdone by any of her young people, but catching up handfuls of snow in her woolen-gloved hands tossed snowballs with the best of them.

The contrast from the joy, the vigorous health of the group entering Dunmore’s room to the still, helpless figure lying upon the cot was pathetic.  The invalid could not move his head, but his great brown eyes, and fine mouth smiled his welcome to his friends, and he said: 

“Oh, it was great!  Great!  I saw it the first thing when I woke up.  And the holly and mistletoe up here over my bed.  I don’t see how they got it hung there without my knowing when they did it.”

“That was our secret,” cried Polly.  “And Peggy sent over the mistletoe from Severndale, though she didn’t know we were to have the tree.”

“Peggy, you are all right,” was Dunmore’s hearty praise.  “But that tree is the prettiest thing ever.  I’m as crazy as a kid about it.  I sort of dreaded Christmas, but you people have fixed it up all right and I’m no end grateful.  It’s a great day after all.”

Peggy who was standing where Dunmore could not see her glanced at Polly.  Polly nodded in quick understanding.  “The day all right,” and the poor lad helpless as some lifeless thing.  The girls’ eyes filled with quick tears which they hastened to wink away, for not for worlds would they have saddened what both knew to be the last Christmas Lewis could pass in this world, and Polly cried: 

“Now, Tanta, let us have the presents!” For an hour the room was the scene of a happy merrymaking, as Shortie, because he was “built on lines to reach the top-gallants,” they said, distributed the gifts, funny or dainty, and Lewis’ bed looked like a stand in a bazaar.  Mrs. Harold had given him a downy bathrobe; Peggy had made him a hop pillow; Polly had made up a nonsense jingle for each day for a month, sealing each in an envelope and labelling it with dire penalties if read before the date named.

But best of all, the class had sent him his class-ring and when it was slipped upon his finger by his roommate, the poor lad broke down completely.

Mrs. Harold hastened to the bedside and the others did their best to relieve the situation.

The class-ring is never worn by a second-classman until the last exam is passed by the first class.  Then the new class-rings blossom forth in all their glory, for this ring is peculiarly significant:  It is looked forward to as one of the greatest events in the class’ history, and is a badge of union forever.