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diff --git a/17510-h/17510-h.htm b/17510-h/17510-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8448a48 --- /dev/null +++ b/17510-h/17510-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2050 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content="HTML Tidy, see www.w3.org" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of When the Yule Log Burns, by +Leona Dalrymple.</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of When the Yule Log Burns, by Leona Dalrymple + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: When the Yule Log Burns + A Christmas Story + +Author: Leona Dalrymple + +Release Date: January 13, 2006 [EBook #17510] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN THE YULE LOG BURNS *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/cover-new.jpg" alt= +"The Book Cover" /></p> + +<p><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<h1>When the Yule Log Burns</h1> + +<h2>A Christmas Story</h2> + +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<h3>By Leona Dalrymple</h3> + +<h4>Author of "Uncle Noah's Christmas Party," etc.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<p class="center"><img src="images/candle.png" alt= +"candle image" /></p> + +<h4>New York</h4> + +<h4>Robert M. McBride & Company</h4> + +<h4>1916</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>Copyright, 1916, by <span class="smcap">Robert M. McBride & +Co.</span></h4> + +<h4>Published November, 1916</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<h2><br /> +PART I</h2> + +<h2>IN WHICH WE LIGHT A YULE-LOG</h2> + +<h3><br /> +<a href="#I">I <span class="smcap">Kindlings</span></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#II">II <span class="smcap">Wishing +Sparks</span></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#III">III <span class="smcap">By the Fire</span></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#IV">IV <span class="smcap">Embers</span></a></h3> + +<h2><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +PART II</h2> + +<h2>IN WHICH WE LIGHT THE NEW LOG WITH THE EMBERS OF THE OLD</h2> + +<h3><br /> +<a href="#Part_Two">I <span class="smcap">The Fire +Again</span></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#II2">II <span class="smcap">It Blazes +Higher</span></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#III2">III <span class="smcap">The Log at +Dawn</span></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#IV2">IV <span class="smcap">The Log at +Twilight</span></a><br /> +</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Part One</h2> + +<h2>In Which We Light a Yule Log</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>When the Yule Log Burns</h2> + +<h2><br /> +<a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/illus-01-new.jpg" alt= +"Dr.'s House" /></p> + +<h2>Kindlings</h2> + +<p><br /> +Polly, the Doctor's old white mare, plodded slowly along the snowy +country road by the picket fence, and turned in at the snow-capped +posts. Ahead, roofed with the ragged ermine of a newly-fallen snow, +the Doctor's old-fashioned house loomed gray-white through the +snow-fringed branches of the trees, a quaint iron lantern, which +was picturesque by day and luminous and cheerful by night, hanging +within the square, white-pillared portico at the side. That the +many-paned, old-fashioned window on the right framed the snow-white +head of Aunt Ellen Leslie, the Doctor's wife, the old Doctor +himself was comfortably aware—for his kindly eyes missed +nothing.</p> + +<p>He could have told you with a reflective stroke of his grizzled +beard that the snow had stopped but an hour since, and that now +through the white and heavy lacery of branches to the west glowed +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg +9]</a></span> flame-gold of a winter sunset, glinting ruddily over +the box-bordered brick walk, the orchard and the comfortable barn +which snugly housed his huddled cattle; that the grasslands to the +south were thickly blanketed in white; that beyond in the evergreen +forest the stately pines and cedars were marvelously draped and +coiffed in snow. For the old Doctor loved these things of Nature as +he loved the peace and quiet of his home.</p> + +<p>So, as he turned in at the driveway and briskly resigned the +care of Polly to old Asher, his seamed and wrinkled helper, the +Doctor's eyes were roving now to a corner, snug beneath a tattered +rug of snow, where by summer Aunt Ellen's petunias and phlox and +larkspur grew—and now to the rose-bushes ridged in down, and +at last to his favorite winter nook, a thicket of black alders +freighted with a wealth of berries. How crimson they were amid the +white quiet of the garden! And the brightly colored fruit of the +barberry flamed forth from a snowy bush like the cheerful elf-lamps +of a wood-gnome.</p> + +<p>There was equal cheer and color in the old-fashioned +sitting-room to which the Doctor presently made his way, for a wood +fire roared with a winter gleam and crackle in the fireplace and +Aunt Ellen Leslie rocked slowly back and forth by the window with a +letter in her hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id= +"Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Another letter!" exclaimed the Doctor, warming his hands before +the blazing log. "God bless my soul, Ellen, we're becoming a +nuisance to Uncle Sam!" But for all the brisk cheeriness of his +voice he was furtively aware that Aunt Ellen's brown eyes were a +little tearful, and presently crossing the room to her side, he +gently drew the crumpled letter from her hand and read it.</p> + +<p>"So John's not coming home for Christmas either, eh?" he said at +last. "Well, now, that <i>is</i> too bad! Now, now, <i>now</i>, +mother," as Aunt Ellen surreptitiously wiped her glasses, "we +should feel proud to have such busy children. There's Ellen and +Margaret and Anne with a horde of youngsters to make a Christmas +for, and John—bless your heart, Ellen, <i>there's</i> a busy +man! A broker now is one of the very busiest of men! And what with +John's kiddies and his beautiful society wife and that grand +Christmas eve ball he mentions—why—" the Doctor cleared +his throat,—"why, dear me, it's not to be wondered at, say I! +And Philip and Howard—busy as—as—as architects +and lawyers usually are at Christmas," he finished lamely. "As for +Ralph—" the Doctor looked away—"well, Ralph hasn't +spent a Christmas home since college days."</p> + +<p>"It will be the first Christmas we ever spent without some of +them home," ventured Aunt Ellen, biting<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> her lip +courageously, whereupon the old Doctor patted her shoulder gently +with a cheery word of advice.</p> + +<p>Now, there was something in the touch of the old Doctor's broad +and gentle hand that always soothed, wherefore Aunt Ellen presently +wiped her troublesome glasses again and bravely tried to smile, and +the Doctor making a vast and altogether cheerful to-do about +turning the blazing log, began a brisk description of his day. It +had ended, professionally, at a lonely little house in the heart of +the forest, which Jarvis Hildreth, dying but a scant year since, +had bequeathed to his orphaned children, Madge and Roger.</p> + +<p>"And, Ellen," finished the Doctor, soberly, "there he sits by +the window, day by day, poor lame little lad!—staring away so +wistfully at the forest, and Madge, bless her brave young +heart!—she bastes and stitches and sews away, all the while +weaving him wonderful yarns about the pines and cedars to amuse +him—all out of her pretty head, mind you! A lame brother and +a passion for books—" said the Doctor, shaking his head, "a +poor inheritance for the lass. They worry me a lot, Ellen, for +Madge looks thin and tired, and to-day—" the Doctor cleared +his throat, "I think she had been crying."</p> + +<p>"Crying!" exclaimed Aunt Ellen, her kindly<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> brown +eyes warm with sympathy. "Dear, dear!—And Christmas only +three days off! Why, John, dear, we must have them over here for +Christmas. To be sure! And we'll have a tree for little Roger and a +Christmas masquerade and such a wonderful Christmas altogether as +he's never known before!" And Aunt Ellen, with the all-embracing +motherhood of her gentle heart aroused, fell to planning a +Christmas for Madge and Roger Hildreth that would have gladdened +the heart of the Christmas saint himself.</p> + +<p>Face aglow, the old Doctor bent and patted his wife's wrinkled +hand.</p> + +<p>"Why, Ellen," he confessed, warmly, "it's the thing I most +desired! Dear me, it's a very strange thing indeed, my dear, how +often we seem to agree. I'll hitch old Billy to the sleigh and go +straight after them now while Annie's getting supper!" And at that +instant one glance at Aunt Ellen Leslie's fine old face, framed in +the winter firelight which grew brighter as the checkerboard window +beside her slowly purpled, would have revealed to the veriest tyro +why the Doctor's patients liked best to call her "Aunt" Ellen.</p> + +<p>So, with a violent jingle of sleigh-bells, the Doctor presently +shot forth again into the white and quiet world, and as he went, +gliding swiftly past the ghostly spruces by the roadside, oddly +enough, despite his cheerful justification to Aunt Ellen, he +was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg +13]</a></span> fiercely rebelling at the defection of his children. +John and his lovely wife might well have foregone their fashionable +ball. And Howard and Philip—their holiday-keeping +Metropolitan clubs were shallow artificialities surely compared +with a home-keeping reunion about the Yule log. As for the children +of Anne and Ellen and Margaret—well, the Doctor could just +tell those daughters of his that their precious youngsters liked a +country Christmas best—he <i>knew</i> they did!—not the +complex, steam-heated hot-house off-shoot of that rugged flower of +simpler times when homes were further apart, but a country +Christmas of keen, crisp cold and merry sleigh-bells, of rosy +cheeks and snow-balls, of skating on the Deacon's pond and a +jubilant hour after around the blazing wood-fire: a Christmas, in +short, such as the old Doctor himself knew and loved, of simplicity +and sympathy and home-keeping heartiness!</p> + +<p>And then—there was Ralph—but here the Doctor's face +grew very stern. Wild tales came to him at times of this youngest +and most gifted of his children—tales of intemperate living +interlarded with occasional tales of brilliant surgical achievement +on the staff of St. Michael's. For the old Doctor had guided the +steps of his youngest son to the paths of medicine with a great +hope, long abandoned.</p> + +<p>Ah—well! The Doctor sighed, abruptly turn<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>ing his +thoughts to Madge and Roger. They at least should know the +heart-glow of a real Christmas! A masquerade party of his neighbors +Christmas eve, perhaps, such as Aunt Ellen had suggested, and a +Yule-log—but now it was, in the midst of his Christmas plans, +that a daring notion flashed temptingly through the Doctor's head, +was banished with a shrug and flashed again, whereupon with his +splendid capacity for prompt decision, the Doctor suddenly wheeled +old Billy about and went sleighing in considerable excitement into +the village whence a host of night-telegrams went singing over the +busy wires to startle eventually a slumbering conscience or so. And +presently when the Doctor drew up with a flourish before the lonely +little house among the forest pines, his earlier depression had +vanished.</p> + +<p>So with a prodigious stamping of snow from his feet and a +cheerful wave of his mittened hand to the boy by the window, the +Doctor bustled cheerily indoors and with kindly eyes averted from +the single tell-tale sauce-pan upon the fire, over which Madge +Hildreth had bent with sudden color, fell to bustling about with a +queer lump in his throat and talking ambiguously of Aunt Ellen's +Christmas orders, painfully conscious that the girl's dark face had +grown pitifully white and tense and that Roger's wan little face +was glowing. And when the fire was damped by the Doctor himself, +and his Christmas guests<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id= +"Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> hustled into dazed, protesting +readiness, the Doctor deftly muffled the thin little fellow in +blankets and gently carried him out to the waiting sleigh with arms +that were splendid and sturdy and wonderfully reassuring.</p> + +<p>"There, there, little man!" he said cheerfully, "we've not hurt +the poor lame leg once, I reckon. And now we'll just help Sister +Madge blow out the lamp and lock the door and be off to Aunt +Ellen!"</p> + +<p>But, strangely enough, the Doctor halted abruptly in the doorway +and turned his kindly eyes away to the shadowy pines. And Sister +Madge, on her knees by Roger's bed, sobbing and praying in an agony +of relief, presently blew out the lamp herself and wiped her eyes. +For nights among the whispering pines are sleepless and long when +work is scarce and Christmas hovers with cold, forbidding eyes over +the restless couch of a dear and crippled brother.<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h2>Wishing Sparks</h2> + +<p><br /> +Round the Doctor's house frolicked the brisk, cold wind of a +Christmas eve, boisterously rattling the luminous checkerboard +windows and the Christmas wreaths, tormenting the cheerful flame in +the old iron lantern and whisking away the snow from the shivering +elms, whistling eerily down the Doctor's chimney to startle a +strange little cripple by the Doctor's fire, who, queerly enough, +would not be startled.</p> + +<p>For to Roger there had never been a wind so Christmasy, or a +fire so bright and warm, and his solemn black eyes glowed! Never a +wealth of holly and barberry and alder-berries so crimson as that +which rimmed the snug old house in Christmas flame! Never such +evergreen wreaths, for, tucked up here in this very chair by Aunt +Ellen, he had made them all himself of boughs from the evergreen +forest! And never surely such enticing odors as had floated out for +the last two days from old Annie's pots and pans as she baked and +roasted and boiled and stewed in endless preparation for Christmas +day and the Christmas eve party, scolding away betimes in in<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg +17]</a></span>dignant whispers at old Asher, who, by reason of a +chuckling air of mystery, was in perpetual disgrace.</p> + +<p>Wonderful days indeed for Roger, with Sister Madge's smooth, +pale cheeks catching the flaring scarlet of the holly, and Sister +Madge's slim and willing fingers so busy hanging boughs that she +had forgotten to sigh; with motherly Aunt Ellen so warmly intent +upon Roger's comfort and plans for the masquerade that many a +mysterious and significant occurrence slipped safely by her kindly +eyes; and with the excited Doctor's busy sleigh jingling so +hysterically about on secret errands and his kindly face so full of +boyish mystery that Roger, with the key to all this Christmas +intrigue locked safely in his heart, had whispered a shy little +warning in the culprit's attentive ear.</p> + +<p>And presently—Roger caught his breath and furtively eyed +the grandfather's clock, ticking boastfully through a welter of +holly—presently it would be time for the Doctor's masquerade, +and later, when the clock struck twelve and the guests unmasked, +that great surprise which the doctor had planned so carefully by +telegram!</p> + +<p>But now from the kitchen came the sound of the Doctor +singing:</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">"Come bring with a +noise,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">My merry, merry boys,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">The Christmas log to the +firing!"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg +18]</a></span></p> + +<p>Roger clapped his thin little hands with a cry of delight, for +old Asher and the Doctor were bringing in the Yule-log to light it +presently with the charred remains of the Christmas log of a year +ago. To-morrow another Yule-log would crackle and blaze and shower +on the hearth, for the old Doctor molded a custom to suit his +fancy. And here was Annie splendidly aproned in white, following +them in, and Aunt Ellen in a wonderful old brown-gold brocade +disinterred for the doctor's party from a lavender-sweet cedar +chest in the garret. And <i>Sister Madge</i>!—Roger +stared—radiant in old-fashioned crimson satin and holly, +colorful foils indeed for her night-black hair and eyes! As for the +doctor himself, Roger now began to realize that with his powdered +wig, his satin breeches and gaily-flowered waistcoat—to say +nothing of silken hose and silver buckles—he was by far the +most gorgeous figure of them all!</p> + +<p>"I," said the doctor presently, striking the burning Yule-log +until the golden sparks flew out, "I charge thee, log, to burn out +old wrongs and heart-burnings!" and then, in accordance with a +cherished custom of his father's he followed the words with a wish +for the good of his household.</p> + +<p>"And I," said old Asher as he struck the log, "I wish for the +good of the horses and cows and all the other live things and," +with a terrific chuckle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id= +"Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> of mystery, "I wish for things aplenty +<i>this</i> night."</p> + +<p>"And I," said old Annie, with a terrible look at her imprudent +spouse as she took the poker, "I wish for the harvest—and wit +for them that lack it!"</p> + +<p>But Roger had the poker now, his black eyes starry.</p> + +<p>"I—I wish for more kind hearts like Aunt Ellen's and the +Doctor's," he burst forth with a strangled sob as the sparks +showered gold, "for more—more sisters like Sister +Madge—" his voice quivered and broke—"and for—for +all boys who cannot walk and run—" but Sister Madge's arm was +already around his shoulders and the old Doctor was patting his +arm—wherefore he smiled bravely up at them through glistening +tears.</p> + +<p>"Now, now, now, little lad!" reminded the Doctor, "it's +Christmas eve!" Whereupon he drew a chair to the fire and began a +wonderful Christmas tale about St. Boniface and Thunder Oak and the +first Christmas tree. A wonderful old Doctor this—reflected +Roger wonderingly. He knew so many different things—how to +scare away tears and all about mistletoe and Druids, and still +another story about a fir tree which Roger opined respectfully was +nothing like so good as Sister Madge's story of the Cedar King who +stood outside his window.</p> + +<p>"Very likely not!" admitted the Doctor gravely.<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've nothing like the respect for Mr. Hans Andersen myself that +I have for Sister Madge."</p> + +<p>"I thought," ventured Roger shyly, slipping his hand suddenly +into the Doctor's, "that Doctors only knew how to cure folks!"</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, laddie," exclaimed the Doctor, considerably +staggered; "they know too little of that, I fear. My conscience!" +as the grandfather's clock came into the conversation with a +throaty boom, "it's half-past seven!" and from then on Roger +noticed the Doctor was uneasy, presently opining, with a prodigious +"Hum!" that Aunt Ellen looked mighty pale and tired and that he for +one calculated a little sleigh ride would brace her up for the +party. This Aunt Ellen immediately flouted and the Doctor was +eventually forced to pathetic and frequent reference to his own +great need of air.</p> + +<p>"Very well, my dear," said Aunt Ellen mildly, striving politely +to conceal her opinion of his mental health, "I'll go, since you +feel so strongly about it, but a sleigh ride in such a wind and +such clothes when one is expecting party guests—" but the +relieved Doctor was already bundling the brown-gold brocade into a +fur-lined coat and furtively winking at Roger! Thus it was that +even as the Doctor's sleigh flew merrily by the Deacon's pond, far +across the snowy fields to the north gleamed the lights of the 7:52 +rushing noisily into the village.<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h2>By the Fire</h2> + +<p><br /> +How it was that the old Doctor somehow lost his way on roads he had +traveled since boyhood was a matter of exceeding mystery and +annoyance to Aunt Ellen, but lose it he did. By the time he found +it and jogged frantically back home, the old house was already +aswarm with masked, mysterious guests and old Asher with a lantern +was peering excitedly up the road. Holly-trimmed sleighs full of +merry neighbors in disguise were dashing gaily up—and in the +midst of all the excitement the Doctor miraculously discovered his +own mask and Aunt Ellen's in the pocket of his great-coat. So +hospitable Aunt Ellen, considerably perturbed that so many of her +guests had arrived in her absence—an absence carefully +planned by the Doctor—betook herself to the masquerade, and +the Christmas party began with bandits and minstrels and jesters +and all sorts of queer folk flitting gaily about the house. They +paid gallant court to Roger in his great chair by the fire and +presently began to present for his approval an impromptu Mummer's +play.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg +22]</a></span></p> + +<p>And now the lights were all out and a masked and courtly old +gentleman in satin breeches was standing in the bright firelight +pouring brandy into a giant bowl of raisins; and now he was +gallantly bowing to Roger himself who was plainly expected to +assist with a lighted match. He did this with trembling fingers and +eyes so big and black and eloquent that the Doctor cleared his +throat; and as the leaping flames from the snapdragon bowl flashed +weirdly over the bizarre company in the shadows. Roger, eagerly +watching them snatch the raisins from the fire, fell to trembling +in an ecstasy of delight. Presently a slender arm in a crimson +sleeve, whose wearer was never very far from Roger's chair, slipped +quietly about his shoulders and held him very tight. So, an endless +round of merry Christmas games until, deep and mellow came at last +the majestic boom of the grandfather's clock striking twelve and +with it a hearty babel of Christmas greetings as the Doctor, +smiling significantly down into Roger's excited eyes, gave the +signal to unmask.</p> + +<p>By the fire a mysterious little knot of guests had been silently +gathering, and now as Aunt Ellen Leslie removed her mask, hand and +mask halted in mid-air as if fixed by the stare of Medusa, and the +face above the brown-gold brocade flamed crimson. For here in +Puritan garb was John Leslie, Jr., and his radiant wife—and +Philip and Howard, smiling Quakers,<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> and Anne and Margaret and +Ellen with a trio of husbands, and beyond a laughing jester in cap +and bells, whose dark, handsome face was a little too reckless and +tired about the eyes, Roger thought, for a really happy Christmas +guest—young Doctor Ralph.</p> + +<p>As Aunt Ellen's startled eyes swept slowly from the smiling +faces of her children to the proud and chuckling Doctor who had +spent Heaven knows how many dollars in telegraphed +commands—she laughed a little and cried a little and then +mingled the two so queerly that she needs must wipe her eyes and +catch at Roger's chair for support, whereupon a kindly little hand +slipped suddenly into hers and Roger looked up and smiled +serenely.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, Aunt Ellen!" he begged shyly. "I knew all about it +too and the Doctor—<i>he</i> did it all!"</p> + +<p>"And merry fits he gave us all by telegram, too, mother!" +exclaimed Philip with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Moreover," broke in John, patting his mother's shoulder, "there +are eleven kids packed away upstairs like sardines—we hid 'em +away while dad and you were lost, and—" but here with a +deafening racket the stairs door burst wide open and with a swoop +and a scream eleven pajama-ed young bandits with starry eyes bore +down upon Aunt Ellen and the Doctor.<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Great Scott!" exclaimed John, thoroughly scandalized, "you +disgraceful kids! Which one of you stirred this up?" But the guilty +face at the tail of the romping procession was the face of old +Asher.</p> + +<p>Radiantly triumphant the old Doctor swung little John Leslie 3rd +to his shoulder and faced his laughing family and as old Annie +appeared with a steaming tray—he seized a mug of cider and +held it high aloft.</p> + +<p>"To the ruddy warmth of the Christmas log and the Christmas home +spirit—" he cried—"to the home-keeping hearts of the +country-side! Gentlemen—I give you—A Country home and a +Country Christmas! May more good folk come to know them!" And +little John Leslie cried hoarsely—</p> + +<p>"Hooray, grandpop, hooray for a Country Christmas!"</p> + +<p>Carelessly alive to the merry spirit of the night, the jester +presently adjusted a flute which hung from his shoulder by a +scarlet cord and lazily piping a Christmas air, wandered to another +room—to come suddenly upon a forgotten playmate of his +boyhood days.</p> + +<p>"It—it can't be!" he reflected in startled interest. "It +surely can't be Madge Hildreth!"</p> + +<p>But Madge Hildreth it surely was, spreading the satin folds of +his grandmother's crimson gown in<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> mocking courtesy. +Moreover it was not the awkward, ragged elfish little gipsy who had +tormented his debonair boyhood with her shy ardent worship of +himself and his daring exploits, but instead a winsome vision of +Christmas color and Christmas cheer, holly-red of cheek, with +flashes of scarlet holly in her night black hair and eyes whose +unfathomable dusk reflected no single hint of that old, wild +worship slumbering still in the girl's rebellious heart.</p> + +<p>"And the symbolism of this stunning make-up?" queried Ralph +after a while, lazily admiring.</p> + +<p>The girl's eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>"To-night, if you please," she said, "I am the spirit of the +old-fashioned Christmas who dwells in the holly heart of the +evergreen wood. A <i>country</i> Christmas, ruddy-cheeked and +cheerful and rugged like the winter holly—simple and +old-fashioned and hallowed with memories like this bright soft +crimson gown!"</p> + +<p>Well, she had been a queer, fanciful youngster too, Doctor Ralph +remembered, always passionately aquiver with a wild sylvan poetry +and over-fond of book-lore like her father. Mischievously glancing +at a spray of mistletoe above the girl's dark head, he stepped +forward with the careless gallantry that had won him many a kindly +glance from pretty eyes and was strangely to fail him now. For at +the look in Madge's calm eyes, he drew back, stammering.<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg +26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I—I beg your pardon!" said Doctor Ralph.</p> + +<p>Later as he stood thoughtfully by his bedroom window, staring +queerly at the wind-beaten elms, he found himself repeating Madge +Hildreth's words. "Ruddy-cheeked and rugged and +cheerful!"—indeed—this unforgettable Christmas eve. +Yes—she was right. Had he not often heard his father say that +the Christmas season epitomized all the rugged sympathy and +heartiness and health of the country year! To-night the blazing +Yule-log, his mother's face—how white her hair was growing, +thought Doctor Ralph with a sudden tightening of his +throat—all of these memories had strummed forgotten and finer +chords. And darkly foiling the homely brightness came the picture +of rushing, overstrung, bundle-laden city crowds, of shop-girls +white and weary, of store-heaps of cedar and holly sapped by +electric glare. Rush and strain and worry—yes—and a +spirit of grudging! How unlike the Christmas peace of this white, +wind-world outside his window! So Doctor Ralph went to bed with a +sigh and a shrug—to listen while the sleety boughs tapping at +his windows roused ghostly phantoms of his boyhood. Falling asleep, +he dreamt that pretty Madge Hildreth had lightly waved a Christmas +wand of crimson above his head and dispelled his weariness and +discontent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg +27]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h2>Embers</h2> + +<p><br /> +And in the morning—there was the royal glitter of a Christmas +ice-storm to bring boyhood memories crowding again, boughs sheathed +in crystal armor and the old barn roof aglaze with ice. +Yes—Ralph thrilled—and there were the Christmas bunches +of oats on the fences and trees and the roof of the barn—how +well he remembered! For the old Doctor loved this Christmas custom +too and never forgot the Christmas birds. And to-day—why of +course—there would be double allowances of food for the +cattle and horses, for old Toby the cat and Rover the dog. Hadn't +Ralph once performed this cherished Christmas task himself!</p> + +<p>But now, clamoring madly at his door was a romping swarm of +youngsters eager to show Uncle Ralph the Christmas tree which, +though he had helped to trim it the night before, he inspected in +great surprise. And here in his chair by another Yule-log he found +Roger, staring wide-eyed at the glittering tree with his thin +little arms full of Christmas gifts. Near him was Sister Madge +whose black eyes, Ralph<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id= +"Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> saw with approval, were very soft and +gentle, and beyond in the coffee-fragrant dining-room Aunt Ellen +and old Annie conspired together over a mammoth breakfast table +decked with holly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John, dear," Ralph heard his mother say as the Doctor came +in, "I've always said that Christmas is a mother's day. Wasn't the +first Christmas a mother's Christmas and the very first +tree—a mother's tree?" and then the Doctor's scandalized +retort—"Now—now, now, see here, Mother Ellen, it's a +father's day, too, don't you forget that!"</p> + +<p>And so on to the Christmas twilight through a day of romping +youngsters and blazing Yule-logs, of Christmas gifts and Christmas +greetings—of a haunting shame for Doctor Ralph at the memory +of the wild Christmas he had planned to spend with Griffin and +Edwards.</p> + +<p>With the coming of the broad shadows which lay among the stiff, +ice-fringed spruces like iris velvet, Doctor Ralph's nieces and +nephews went flying out to help old Asher feed the stock. By the +quiet fire the Doctor beckoned Ralph.</p> + +<p>"Suppose, my boy," he said, "suppose you take a look at the +little lad's leg here. I've sometimes wondered what you would think +of it."</p> + +<p>Coloring a little at his father's deferential tone Ralph turned +the stocking back from the pitiful shrunken limb and bent over it, +his dark face keen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id= +"Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> and grave. And now with the surgeon +uppermost, Roger fancied Doctor Ralph's handsome eyes were nothing +like so tired. Save for the crackle of the fire and the tick of the +great clock, there was silence in the firelit room and presently +Roger caught something in Doctor Ralph's thoughtful face that made +his heart leap wildly.</p> + +<p>"An operation," said the young Doctor suddenly—and halted, +meeting his father's eyes significantly.</p> + +<p>"You are sure!" insisted the old Doctor slowly. "In my day, it +was impossible—quite impossible."</p> + +<p>"Times change," said the younger man. "I have performed such an +operation successfully myself. I feel confident, sir—" but +Roger had caught his hand now with a sob that echoed wildly through +the quiet room.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Doctor Ralph," he blurted with blazing, agonized eyes, "you +don't—you can't mean, sir, that I'll walk and run like other +boys—and—and climb the Cedar King—" his voice +broke in a passionate fit of weeping.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Doctor Ralph, huskily, "I mean just that. Dad and I, +little man, we're going to do what we can."</p> + +<p>By the window Sister Madge buried her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, now Sister Madge," came the Doctor's kindly voice a +little later, "you've cried enough,<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> lass. Roger is fretting +about you and Doctor Ralph here, he says he's going to take you for +a little sleigh-ride if you'll honor him by going."</p> + +<p>Outside a Christmas moon rode high above a sparkling ice-bright +world and as the sleigh shot away into its quiet glory, Ralph, +meeting the dark, tear-bright eyes of Sister Madge, tucked the +robes closer about her with a hand that shook a little.</p> + +<p>"'Gipsy' Hildreth!" he said suddenly, smiling, but the hated +nickname to-night was almost a caress. "Tell me," Ralph's voice was +very grave—"You've been sewing? Mother spoke of it."</p> + +<p>"There was nothing else," said Sister Madge. "I could not leave +Roger."</p> + +<p>"And now Mother wants you to stay on with her. You—you'll +do that?"</p> + +<p>"She is very lonely," said Madge uncertainly and Ralph bit his +lip.</p> + +<p>"Mother lonely!" he said. "She didn't tell me that."</p> + +<p>"Roger is wild to stay," went on Madge, looking away—"but +I—oh—I fear it is only their wonderful kindness. Still +there's the Doctor's rheumatism—and he does need some one to +keep his books."</p> + +<p>"Rheumatism!" said Ralph sharply.</p> + +<p>"Yes," nodded Madge in surprise—"didn't you know. It's +been pretty bad this winter. He's been thinking some of breaking in +young Doctor Price to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id= +"Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> take part of his practise now and +perhaps all of it later."</p> + +<p>"Price!" broke out Ralph indignantly. "Oh—that's absurd! +Price couldn't possibly swing Dad's work. He's not clever +enough."</p> + +<p>"He's the only one there is," said Madge and Ralph fell +silent.</p> + +<p>All about them lay a glittering moonlit country of peaceful, +firelit homes and snowy hills—of long quiet roads and shadowy +trees and presently Ralph spoke again.</p> + +<p>"You like all this," he said abruptly, "the quiet—the +country—and all of it?"</p> + +<p>Sister Madge's black eyes glowed.</p> + +<p>"After all," she said, "is it not the only way to live? This +scent of the pine, the long white road, the wild-fire of the winter +sunset and the wind and the hills—are they not God-made +messages of mystery to man? Life among man-made things—like +your cities—seems somehow to exaggerate the importance of man +the maker. Life among the God-made hills dwarfs that artificial +sense of egotism. It teaches you to marvel at the mystery of +Creation. Yesterday when the Doctor and I were gathering the +Christmas boughs, the holly glade in the forest seemed like some +ancient mystic Christmas temple of the Druids where one might tell +his rosary in crimson holly beads and forget the world!"<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg +32]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well—perhaps there was something fine and sweet and holy +in the country something—a tranquil simplicity—a hearty +ruggedness—that city dwellers forfeited in their head-long +rush for man-made pleasure. After all, perhaps the most enduring +happiness lay in the heart of these quiet hills.</p> + +<p>"My chief is very keen on country life," said Ralph suddenly. +"He preaches a lot. Development of home-spirit and old-fashioned +household gods—that sort of thing! He's a queerish sort of +chap—my chief—and a bit too—er—candid at +times. He was dad's old classmate, you know." And Ralph fell silent +again, frowning.</p> + +<p>So Price was to take his father's practise! How it must gall the +old Doctor! And mother was lonely, eh?—and Dad's rheumatism +getting the best of him—Why Great Guns! mother and dad were +growing <i>old</i>! And some of those snow-white hairs of theirs +had come from worrying over him—John had said so. Ralph's +dark face burned in the chill night wind. Well, for all old John's +cutting sarcasm, his father still had faith in him and the trust in +young Roger's eloquent eyes had fairly hurt him. God! they did not +know! And then this queer Christmas heart-glow. How Griffin and +Edwards and the rest of his gay friends would mock him for it? +<i>Friends!</i> After all—had he any friends in the finer +sense of that finest of words? Such warm-hearted loyal<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> friends +for instance as these neighbors of his father's who had been +dropping in all day with a hearty smile and a Christmas hand-shake. +And black-eyed Sister Madge—this brave, little fighting +gipsy-poet here—where—But here Ralph frowned again and +looked away and even when the cheerful lights of home glimmered +through the trees he was still thinking—after an impetuous +burst of confidence to Sister Madge.</p> + +<p>So, later, when Doctor Ralph entered his father's +study—his chin was very determined.</p> + +<p>"I was ashamed to tell you this morning, sir," he said steadily, +"but I—I'm no longer on the staff of St. Michael's. My hand +was shaking and—and the chief knew why. And, dad," he faced +the old Doctor squarely, "I'm coming back home to keep your +practise out of Price's fool hands. You've always wanted that and +my chief has preached it too, though I couldn't see it somehow +until to-day. And presently, sir, when—when my hand is +steadier, I'm going to make the little chap walk and run. +I've—promised Sister Madge." And the old Doctor cleared his +throat and gulped—and finally he wiped his glasses and walked +away to the window. For of all things God could give him—this +surely was the best!</p> + +<p>"Oh, grandpop," cried little John Leslie 3rd, bolting into the +study in great excitement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" +id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>—"Come see Roger! We kids have +made him the Christmas king and he's got a crown o' holly on +and—and a wand and he's a-tappin' us this way with it to make +us Knights. And I'm the Fir-tree Knight—and Bob—he's a +Cedar Knight and Ned's a spruce and Roger—he says his pretty +sister tells him stories like that smarter'n any in the books. +Oh—do hurry!"</p> + +<p>The old Doctor held out his hand to his son.</p> + +<p>"Well, Doctor Ralph," he said huskily, "suppose we go tell +mother."</p> + +<p>So while the Doctor told Aunt Ellen, Ralph bent his knee to this +excited Christmas King enthroned in the heart of the +fire-shadows.</p> + +<p>"Rise—" said Roger radiantly, tapping him with a cedar +wand, "I—I dub thee first of all my knights—the good, +kind Christmas Knight!"</p> + +<p>"And here," said Ralph, smiling, "here's Sister Madge. What +grand title now shall we give to her?" But as Sister Madge knelt +before him with firelit shadows dancing in her sweet, dark eyes, +Roger dropped the wand and buried his face on her shoulder with a +little sob.</p> + +<p>"Nothing good enough for Sister Madge, eh?" broke in the old +Doctor, looking up. "Well, sir, I think you're right."</p> + +<p>Now in the silence Aunt Ellen spoke and her words were like a +gentle Christmas benediction.<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Unto us,'" said Aunt Ellen Leslie as she turned the Christmas +log, "'this night a son is given!'"</p> + +<p>But Ralph, by the window, had not heard. For wakening again in +his heart as he stared at the peaceful, moonlit, "God-made" +hills—was the old forgotten boyish love for this rugged, +simple life of his father's dwarfing the lure of the city and the +mockery of his fashionable friends. And down the lane of years +ahead, bright with homely happiness and service to the needs of +others—was the dark and winsome face of Sister Madge, +stirring him to ardent resolution.<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Part_Two" id="Part_Two"></a>Part Two</h2> + +<h2>In Which We Light the New Log with the Embers of the Old<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg +37]</a></span></h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I2" id="I2"></a>I</h2> + +<h2>The Fire Again</h2> + +<p><br /> +"Doctor!" said little Roger slyly, "you got your chin stuck +out!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor stroked his grizzled beard in hasty apology.</p> + +<p>"God bless my soul," he admitted guiltily. "I do believe I have. +You've been so quiet," he added accusingly, "curled up there by the +fire that I must certainly have gotten lonesome. And I most always +stick out my chin that way when I'm lonesome."</p> + +<p>Roger, by way of reparation, betook himself to the arm of the +Doctor's chair.</p> + +<p>The Doctor's arm closed tight around him. A year ago this little +adopted son of his had been very lame. It was the first Christmas +in his life, indeed, that he had walked.</p> + +<p>"Out there," said the Doctor, "the winter twilight's been +fighting the alder berries with purple spears. It's conquered +everything in the garden and covered it up with misty velvet save +the snow and the berries. But the twilight's using heavier spears +now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg +39]</a></span> and likely it'll win. <i>I</i> want the alder +berries to win out, drat it! Their blaze is so bright and +cheerful."</p> + +<p>Roger accepted the challenge to argument with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> want the twilight to win," he said.</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked slightly scandalized.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my, my, my, my!" he said. "I can't for the life of me +understand any such gloomy preference as that. Bless me, if I +can."</p> + +<p>"Why," crowed Roger jubilantly, "<i>I</i> can, 'cause the more +twilighty it gets, the more it's Christmas eve!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor regarded his small friend with admiration.</p> + +<p>"By George," he admitted, "I do believe you have me +there—" but the Doctor's kindly eyes did not fire to the name +of Christmas as Roger thought they ought.</p> + +<p>"Almost," he said, "I thought you were going to stick out your +chin again. And you're not lonesome now 'cause I'm here an' pretty +noisy."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Man to man, now!" urged Roger suddenly.</p> + +<p>This was the accepted key to a confessional ceremony which +required much politeness and ruthless honesty.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Hildreth," began the Doctor formally.</p> + +<p>Roger's face fell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id= +"Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm your adopted son," he hinted, "and you said that made my +name same as yours."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Leslie!" corrected the Doctor, and Roger glowed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Leslie," went on the Doctor thoughtfully, "I'm chuck +full of grievances. There's the rheumatism in my leg, for instance. +That's no sort of thing to have at Christmas."</p> + +<p>"But that's better," said Roger. "You said so this morning. I +'spect you been thinkin' too much about it like you said I did when +my leg was stiff."</p> + +<p>"Ahem! And I did hope somebody would come home for Christmas. I +like a house full of romping youngsters—"</p> + +<p>Roger pointed an accusing finger.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Ellen says every blessed one of your children, an' your +grand-children too, begged and begged you to come to the city for +Christmas an'—an' you wouldn't go 'cause you're old-fashioned +and like a country Christmas so much better—an'—an' +because you'd promised to teach me to skate on the Deacon's pond +an' take me sleighin'."</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said the Doctor helplessly, "for such a mite of a +kiddy, you do seem remarkably well informed."</p> + +<p>"Man to man," reminded Roger inexorably and the Doctor aired his +final grievance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id= +"Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And then there's that youngest son of mine—"</p> + +<p>"Doctor Ralph?"</p> + +<p>"Doctor Ralph! What right had he, I'd like to know, to marry +that pretty sister of yours and go off honeymooning holiday time. +Didn't he know that we needed him and Sister Madge here for +Christmas? I miss 'em both. Young pirate!"</p> + +<p>Roger's heart swelled with loyalty. It was Doctor Ralph's +skilful hand that had helped him walk.</p> + +<p>"Most likely," he said fairly, "I'm a little to blame there. +After I came home from the hospital, I did tell Sister Madge to +marry him—"</p> + +<p>"Most likely," acknowledged the Doctor, "I said something +similar to Doctor Ralph. I can't have you shouldering all the +responsibility. Well, your Honor, there's the Christmas evidence. +What's the verdict?"</p> + +<p>Roger considered. This man to man game had certain +phraseological conclusions.</p> + +<p>"No case!" he said suddenly, nor would he alter his decision +when the Doctor protested against its severity.</p> + +<p>"You had so awful many peoply sort of places to go," pointed out +Roger, and the Doctor laughed.</p> + +<p>"And let you spend this first Christmas on your two legs in a +<i>city</i>?" he demanded. "Well, I guess not! No-sir-ee-bob! +There!—the alder berries have faded out and the garden's +thick with twilight."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id= +"Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And it's Christmas eve!" cried Roger, his black eyes shining +with delight.</p> + +<p>"Speaking of Christmas," said the Doctor, sniffing luxuriously, +"I feel that I ought to slip out to the kitchen for a minute or so. +I do smell something tremendously Christmasy and spicy—"</p> + +<p>Roger caught his breath. With a Christmas intrigue as surely in +the air as the smell of spice, here was dangerous ground.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Ellen," he faltered, "Aunt Ellen said she couldn't pos'bly +be bothered with—with any men folks in the kitchen—not +even me."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" rebelled the Doctor largely, "that's merely a ruse of +hers to protect the cookies. And what I'd like to know is just +this—what's Aunt Ellen doing in the kitchen anyway? Certainly +old Annie's able to do the Christmas fussing for three people. Aunt +Ellen ought to be in here with us. That was part of my lonesome +grievance but I forgot to mention it."</p> + +<p>Roger, shivering apprehensively, visioned suspicious stores of +Christmas delicacies—holly and evergreen—and a supper +table set for <i>ten</i>! And off somewhere among those purple +spears of twilight old Asher, the hired man, was waiting at the +station with the big farm sleigh.</p> + +<p>He must keep his eye upon the Doctor until six o'clock, and lure +him away from the window.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" +id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me a story," begged Roger—"over here by the fire." +And his voice was so very tremulous and urgent that the hungry +Doctor abandoned his notion of a Christmas cookie, and +complied.</p> + +<p>To Roger, in a nervous ecstasy of anticipation, the story was a +blurred hodge-podge of phrases and crackling fire, distant noises +of clinking china and hurrying feet, and wild flights of +imagination.... Old Asher must be coming past the red barn now ... +and now down the hill ... and now past the Deacon's pond ... and +now—</p> + +<p>Sleigh-bells fairly leaped out of the quiet, and Roger jumped +and gulped, aquiver with excitement. The Doctor regarded him with +mild disfavor.</p> + +<p>"Bless my soul," he said in surprise, "that was the quietest +part of my story. You're restless."</p> + +<p>"Go on!" said Roger hoarsely, and the obliging Doctor, mistaking +his agitation for interest, went on with his tale.</p> + +<p>But Roger had heard old Asher driving along by the picket fence +and turning in at the gate-posts, and the story was no more to him +than the noisy crackle of the log. Off somewhere in the region of +the kitchen door he detected a subdued scuffle of many feet.</p> + +<p>The grandfather's clock struck six.... Roger's cheeks were +blazing—the fire and the Doctor still duetting.... Why, oh, +why didn't somebody come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id= +"Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> and call them to supper?... There had +been plenty of time now for everything. Why—</p> + +<p>The door swung back and Roger jumped. Old Annie, Asher's wife, +stood in the doorway, her wrinkled face inscrutable.</p> + +<p>"Supper, sir!" she said and vanished. Hand in hand, the Doctor +and Roger went out to supper.</p> + +<p>The dining-room door was closed. That in itself was unusual. But +the unsuspecting Doctor pushed through with Roger at his heels, +only to halt and stare dumfounded over his spectacles while Roger +screamed and danced and clapped his hands. For to the startled eyes +of Doctor John Leslie, the snug, old-fashioned room was alive with +boys and holly—boys and boys and boys upon boys, he would +have told you in that first instant of delighted consternation, in +different stages of embarrassment and rags. And one had but to +glance at the faces of old Asher and Annie in the kitchen doorway, +at Aunt Ellen, hovering near her Christmas brood with the look of +all mothers in her kind, brown eyes, and then at Roger, scarlet +with enthusiasm, to know that the Doctor had been the victim of +benevolent conspiracy.</p> + +<p>"It's a s'prise!" shrieked Roger, "a Christmasy s'prise! Aunt +Ellen she says you're so awful keen on s'prisin' other folks that +we'd show you—an'—an' you'll have a bang-up Christmas +with kids like you love an' so will I, an' so will they an' the +minis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg +45]</a></span>ter he went to the city and found seven boys crazy +for Christmas in the country an'—"</p> + +<p>"Roger! Roger!" came Aunt Ellen's gentle voice—"do please +take a breath, child. You're turning purple."</p> + +<p>The Doctor adjusted his glasses.</p> + +<p>"Seven boys!" he said. "Bless my soul, when I opened that door I +saw seventy boys!" He counted them aloud—then for no reason +at all save that he had glanced into seven eager faces, thinner and +sharper than he liked, for all they glowed with excitement and +furtive interest in the long supper table asparkle with lights and +holly, he wiped his glasses and patted Roger on the back.</p> + +<p>"Is your leg botherin' so much now, daddy Doctor?" demanded +Roger.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like so much," admitted the Doctor.</p> + +<p>"Are you lonesome 'nuff now to stick out your chin?"</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, Roger," admitted the Doctor huskily, "I'm so +full of Christmas I can hardly breathe!"</p> + +<p>"Hooray!" said Roger. "Me, too."<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II2" id="II2"></a>II</h2> + +<h2>It Blazes Higher</h2> + +<p><br /> +It was well that the Doctor had a way with boys, for there was a +problem to be solved here with infinite tact—a problem of +protuberant eyes and paralyzing self-consciousness, of unnatural +silences and then unexpected attempts at speech that died in +painful rasps and gurgles, of stubbing toes and nudging elbows, of +a centipedal supply of arms and legs that interfered with abortive +and conscience-stricken attempts at courtesy, and above all an +interest in the weave of the carpet that was at once a mania and an +epidemic—but by the time supper was well under way, things, +in the language of Roger, had begun to hum, and by the time the +Doctor had mastered the identities of his guests, from Jim, the +shy, sullen boy who would not meet his eyes, to Mike's little +brother, Muggs, who consumed prodigious quantities of everything in +staring silence, and looked something like a girl save for a +tardily-cast-off suit of Mike's, somewhat oceanic in flow and fit, +the hum had become celebrative and distinctly a thing of +Christmas.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg +47]</a></span></p> + +<p>Constraint in the mellowing halo of a Christmas eve supper where +holly and a Yule-log blazed and the winter wind frostily rattled +the checker-paned windows of the sitting-room in jealous spleen, +fled to join the Doctor's rheumatism.</p> + +<p>By the time the grandfather's clock struck seven through a haze +of holly, the Doctor had pokered the Yule-log into a frenzied +shower of gold; apples and nuts were steadily disappearing from a +basket by the Doctor's chair and the Doctor himself was relating an +original Christmas tale of adventure, born of uncommon inspiration +and excitement, to a huddled group with circular eyes and contented +stomachs. But Muggs—inimitable workman—his small face +partially obscured by the biggest apple in the basket, had not yet +spoken, and Jim, the shy, sullen little boy to whom Roger had taken +a fancy because he was lame, had met the Doctor's eyes but once, +and then with a rush of color.</p> + +<p>Now, whether it was the scheming excitement of a busy day or the +warmth of a busy log or the rambling yarn of a busy Doctor, who may +say? Certainly Roger fell asleep at a fictional crisis and remained +asleep for all that Jim furtively nudged him.</p> + +<p>"There!" said the Doctor as the clock struck eight, "that's all. +To bath and beds, every one of you! Annie's had a lamp on the +kitchen table this half hour ready to light you up the stairs. +My!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg +48]</a></span> My! My!—but there's a busy day ahead. Roger! +Well, of all ungrateful listeners! Roger!"</p> + +<p>But in the end, the Doctor carried Roger up to bed, preceded by +Annie with the lamp. And while Annie was turning back quilts and +smoothing pillows and fumbling at windows, with the freedom of long +service she soundly berated the Doctor for postponing the bed-time +hour with his Christmas twaddle.</p> + +<p>"And Mister Muggs there," she said severely, "has had one apple +too many, I'm thinkin', and the last one as big as his head. He'll +need a pill before morning. The child's packed himself that hard +and round ye fear to touch him." And then because Muggs was such a +very little boy Annie was minded to assist with his bath, and laid +kindly hands upon an indefinite outer garment which began +immediately beneath his arm-pits and ended at his shoe-tops in +singular fringe.</p> + +<p>"An', ma'am," she explained to Aunt Ellen a little later, "I had +to let him go in to his bath by himself. No more had I touched his +bushel-basket of rags—an' they were hitched over his +shoulders with school straps and somebody's shirtwaist +underneath—than he let out a terrific shriek (ye must have +heard him) an' all the boys come runnin' and crowdin' round him and +starin' so frightened at me, an' his brother yelled at him to keep +quiet or something or some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" +id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>body'd get him, and he kept quiet +that sudden I could fairly see the child swell. He's unnatural +still and unnatural full, ma'am, an' the Doctor better leave his +pills handy."</p> + +<p>Bathed and freshly night-gowned, the Doctor's guests tumbled, a +little noisily into bed. Only Jim lay silent and wakeful. Once he +nudged his bed-fellow.</p> + +<p>"Luke," he whispered, "d'ye think I'd orta tell 'em?"</p> + +<p>"Aw," said Luke sleepily, "dry up, Jim! Gosh, ain't the bed +soft!"</p> + +<p>Jim sighed.</p> + +<p>Christmas came to the old farmhouse with the distant echo of +village bells at midnight but, long before that, Christmas, in a +fur cap and great-coat had swept up the driveway with a jingle of +sleigh-bells, behind old Polly, the Doctor's mare, his sleigh +packed high with bundles. By the light of a late moon, flinging +festal silver on the snow, it might be seen that Christmas +resembled a somewhat guilty looking old gentleman with a grizzled +beard.</p> + +<p>"I'll catch old Scratch!" he admitted, suddenly overcome by the +bulbous appearance of the sleigh, "but Ellen may say what she will. +She <i>couldn't</i> have thought of everything!"</p> + +<p>No call for pills came that night from Muggs, asleep in a crib +that had seen much service. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> awake however long before +daylight, trembling with excitement.</p> + +<p>"Mike, oh Mike!" he called hoarsely. "Wake up. It's Christmas +mornin'."</p> + +<p>Mike, in a big bed with Marty Fay, sat up.</p> + +<p>"Don't you <i>dare</i> open your mouth to-day!" he cried in +blood-thirsty accents, "or Mom Murphy'll git ye surer'n scat. Ain't +I schemed enuff to git ye here? Huh? Wanta be sent home—huh?" +Muggs ducked beneath the blankets with a shivering wail.<span +class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg +51]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III2" id="III2"></a>III</h2> + +<h2>The Log at Dawn</h2> + +<p><br /> +In the still, cold corridors of a farmhouse, with frost-jungles +clouding every window pane and a zero-dark outside, the cry of +"Merry Christmas!" is most at home. Let noses be ever so cold and +blanketed bodies ever so warm, the cry fills the dawn with electric +energy. The Doctor began it. He knew by the instant response that +he had started something that he could not stop. Almost in no time, +it seemed, Roger was leading a wild, bare-footed scamper down the +stairs—for Roger <i>knew</i>—and the Doctor, hastily +bath-robed and slippered, was on behind with a lamp. But here was +no cyclonic invasion of a dark, cold sitting-room. Old Annie and +Asher knew boys! A log blazed brightly in the fireplace and the +lamp was lit. If the room was over-warm, it proved simply that +Annie had seen boys of another generation rushing down of a +Christmas morning, scantily clad.</p> + +<p>And the King of Christmas trees blazed in candle-glory from wall +to wall, tinselled boughs sagging with<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> the weight of its +Christmas freight. It could not have been bigger—it could not +have glittered more. It had as many arms as an Octopus and its +shaggy evergreen head, starred gorgeously with iridescence, brushed +the old-fashioned paper on the ceiling. A great, lovable Christmas +giant guarding a cargo of Christmas gifts!</p> + +<p>Muggs emitted one blood-curdling shriek of delight, clapped his +hand over his mouth and began to swell about the cheeks. Then he +stepped on the hem of his night-gown and fell sprawling at Annie's +feet.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Annie vexedly, though she righted him with +kindly hands, "I can't for the life of me make out what ails that +child. He acts so mortal queer at times, an' he's ready to swell up +over nothing at all."</p> + +<p>With the advent of Aunt Ellen, Christmas packages began to lose +twine and paper, and what the packages lost the sitting-room +speedily gained in disorder. For here were warm suits and +overcoats, shoes and stockings and sweaters and caps, skates and +horns and whistles and drums, home-made pop-corn and candy, +oranges—ah! well, sensible gifts in plenty, and foolish gifts +that were wiser than Solomon for they included a boy's heart as +well as his body.</p> + +<p>In a lull all eyes turned to Muggs. His pockets<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> were +crammed with pop-corn and candy. One arm was quite as full of toys +as he could pack it—the other had begun the day's conveyance +of food from hand to mouth, but he was regarding a very small, warm +suit of clothes and substantial boots with dangerously quivering +lips. Nor could one misinterpret his disapproval. For a moment the +startled Doctor fancied he heard Mike hiss the astonishing words +"Mom Murphy!" but by the time he had wheeled about, Muggs, with +circular eyes of terror, had begun to swell.</p> + +<p>"That child," said Annie, "has something on his mind. Don't tell +me! I know it."</p> + +<p>The inevitable blare of racket came all too soon. Horns and +whistles and drums united in a deafening blast, and if thanks did +not come easily to the lips of boys, noise did. Nor could Muggs at +any time thereafter be separated from a shoulder drum upon which he +had beaten with insane and single-minded concentration even after +the din was past and a hungry hint of breakfast in the air. Lacking +one outlet of expression he had seized upon another. He drummed his +way fiercely upstairs, to dress, and he drummed his way down to +breakfast, a ridiculous self-consciousness in his small face +whenever he glanced at his new suit of clothes. Small as it was it +engulfed him utterly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id= +"Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Jim!" said the Doctor suddenly. "You're not limping!"</p> + +<p>Jim hung his head and glanced at his shining new shoes.</p> + +<p>"No, sir!" he said and gulped.</p> + +<p>"Bless me," said the Doctor, adjusting his spectacles, "I +thought you were lame and if I hadn't forgotten it last night you'd +have had no skates this morning."</p> + +<p>"I didn't have no heel on one shoe," blurted Jim in confusion, +and Roger, in relief, hoorayed himself into hoarseness.</p> + +<p>But Jim, like Muggs, was something of a mystery, and after a +time the Doctor, with a sigh, abandoned his effort to break through +the boy's sullen shyness. Still Jim was the first at the chopping +block when Annie wanted wood, and when the task took on something +of the charm of Tom Sawyer's fence by reason of a winter wren, so +tame from overfeeding that he perched himself now and then upon the +handle of the ax, Jim fell back with resentment and resigned the ax +to Marty Fay who spat upon his hands, doubled up his fists, +sparred, in an excess of good spirits, with an invisible +antagonist, and thereafter made the chips fly so fast that the +little wren departed.</p> + +<p>Already there were great Christmas bunches of oats upon +glistening trees and fences, but, while<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> Asher was carrying +double portions of food to cattle and horses, to Toby, the cat, and +Rover, the dog, the Doctor went about, with an eager pack of boys +at his heels, distributing further Christmas largess for his +feathered friends—suet and crumbs and seed. For there were +chickadees in the clump of red cedars by the barn, and juncos and +nuthatches, white-throated sparrows and winter wrens, all so frank +in their overtures to the Doctor that the boys with one accord +closed threateningly around Muggs to keep him from drumming the +birds into flight. Jim fastened a great chunk of suet to a +tree-trunk and very soon a red-breasted nuthatch was busy with his +Christmas breakfast. Altogether Roger's bang-up Christmas began +with terrific bustle, with Annie, from whose kitchen already +floated odors that set the insatiable Muggs to sniffing, by far the +busiest of them all.</p> + +<p>The grandfather's clock struck ten. It found the old farmhouse +deserted save for Annie in the kitchen and Aunt Ellen in her +rocking chair by the sitting-room window. The Doctor was guiding +his guests to the Deacon's pond.</p> + +<p>New skates, new sweaters, and a pond as smooth as glass! What +wonder then that Roger's trembling fingers bungled his straps, and +Jim, kneeling, fastened them on with nimble fingers.</p> + +<p>"Ain't ye never skated?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" +id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—I—I been lame. Oh, hurry, Jim! See, Mike's +flyin' down the pond like wind!"</p> + +<p>Jim's eyes softened.</p> + +<p>"I'll teach ye," he said.</p> + +<p>As for the Doctor he had disinterred an ancient pair of skates +from the attic, and presently he began to perform pedal +convolutions of such startling design and eccentricity that the +boys gathered about him and cheered until, seating himself +unexpectedly in the center of a particularly wide and airy +flourish, he flatly told the boys to run about their business.</p> + +<p>Now Muggs, though he carried upon his shoulder a ridiculous pair +of elfin skates, was much too small a boy, his brother thought, to +embark upon the ice, wherefore he stood like a sentinel upon the +shore and drummed and ate incessantly, until an orange catapulted +from an overcrowded pocket, when he pursued it with a roar.</p> + +<p>The peal of the village town-clock striking twelve came all too +soon, but homing was no task with a turkey at the end. Muggs, still +wrapped in mysterious silence, knew the very spot where Christmas +odors began to permeate the frosty air and redoubled the speed in +his drumming arm, but when after a vigorous scrubbing his +glistening eye fell upon the holly-bright table and an enormous +turkey by the Doctor's plate, only a frosty menace in Mike's eye, +it seemed, restrained another blood-curdling<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> shriek +of delight. There was paralyzing apology in his eyes as Mike's lips +formed the soundless threat—"Mom Murphy!"</p> + +<p>"He's holdin' himself in," said Annie, "Mister Muggs, give me +the drum! Ye'll not crowd into the chair with that upon your +shoulder!"</p> + +<p>It seemed that Mister Muggs would. He began to swell. He began +to drum. He carried his point and crammed himself and his drum into +his chair at the table. He did not speak. Neither, from that time +on, did he permit any lapse in his industry. What Muggs did, from +drum to drum-sticks, he did well.</p> + +<p>Muggs ate turkey and mashed turnips. Muggs ate potatoes, +cranberry sauce, boiled onions, and quite a little celery. He +glinted ahead at a pie on the sideboard, seemed to make hurried +structural calculations, and pushed his plate again toward the +turkey. Aunt Ellen looked at the Doctor and the Doctor looked at +Muggs.</p> + +<p>"If the child eats any more," said Annie bluntly from the +kitchen door, "he must have a pill. 'Tis enough for him to drum +away the peace of the Christmas day without stuffin' himself that +hard and round ye fear for his buttons. An' to my mind, if he'd +talk more and eat less, he'd not be in such danger o' +burstin'."</p> + +<p>Mike looked slightly agitated.<span class='pagenum'><a name= +"Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Muggs," said the Doctor firmly, "it comes to this. More +turkey—one pill. No turkey—no pill."</p> + +<p>Muggs exhibited a capacity for instant decision. With stubby +forefinger rigid, he shoved his plate a little closer to the +turkey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg +59]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV2" id="IV2"></a>IV</h2> + +<h2>The Log at Twilight</h2> + +<p><br /> +There was a straw-ride in the farm sleigh after dinner, a story or +two by the Yule log when the twilight closed in and Annie had lit +the Christmas candles on the tree, and then as the boys were +romping in a game of Roger's the Doctor slipped away to his study +for a quiet hour with a book. His lamp was barely lighted and the +book upon his knee when the door opened and Jim stood before him, +his face so white and strained that the Doctor laid aside his book, +thinking instantly, of course, that here again was too much +turkey.</p> + +<p>Jim hung his head, one toe burrowing in the carpet.</p> + +<p>"Doctor John!" he burst forth hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>Jim gulped.</p> + +<p>"I—I been in <i>jail</i>!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor looked once at Jim's face, quivering in an agony of +shame, and hastily wiped his glasses. In the quiet came the +laughter of romping boys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" +id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why," said the Doctor very gently, "did you tell me?"</p> + +<p>Something in the kindly voice opened the flood-gates of a boy's +sore heart. Jim's mouth quivered piteously, then he broke down and +hid his face behind his elbow, sobbing wildly.</p> + +<p>"I wanta be square," he cried passionately, "I wanta be square +like you've been to us, an'—an Luke said ye might not want a +jail-bird here for Christmas. I—stole—coal—for +mom—"</p> + +<p>It was the old tale, one boy caught, paying for the petty +thievery of the score who ran away. The Doctor heard the mumbled +tale to the end and cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"And so," he said slowly, "you wanted to be square. That's the +finest thing I've heard this Christmas day. Wanted to be square. +Well, well!" His hand was on Jim's shoulder now. "Jim, I wonder if +you could come back to me next Christmas and tell me you'd been +absolutely straight—"</p> + +<p>"Here!" said Jim in a choking whisper, his eyes blazing through +his tears, "again—for <i>Christmas</i>!"</p> + +<p>Somewhere on a snowy page a Christmas angel wrote: "One boy +saved by the spirit of a country Christmas!"</p> + +<p>"Here," repeated the Doctor, "again—for<span class= +'pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +Christmas." He opened the door. "Run along, now, Jim," he said +kindly, "or the boys will miss you."</p> + +<p>Jim's final words were very queer.</p> + +<p>"Doctor John," he blurted, "I—I'm a goin' to send poor +little Muggs."</p> + +<p>The Doctor was devoutly hoping that Muggs had never been in jail +for stealing food or drums, when Muggs himself appeared clinging +desperately to the hand of Mike. He seemed on the verge of a +lachrymose explosion.</p> + +<p>Mike's face was very red but it was also very hopeful.</p> + +<p>"Jim said to tell ye," he mumbled. "She ain't never had no +Christmas an' the minister he said the order was all boys +an'—an' she cried, so Mom said bring her anyway in my ol' +suit—you'd never know, an'—an'—an'—Oh, my +gosh!" finished Mike tragically, "Muggs is a girl. Her—her +name's C-c-c-c-clara!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor jumped. So did Muggs. The lachrymose explosion came +and the drum slipped down from the shoulder of Muggs with a +clatter.</p> + +<p>"Don't wanta go home!" came the heartbroken wail, "don't wanta +go home. Mom Murphy'll git me."</p> + +<p>"I—I tol' her," explained Mike uncomfortably, "that she +mustn't open her mouth once—jus' act<span class='pagenum'><a +name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> deaf an' dumb or +you'd guess maybe an' send her home an' Mom Murphy'd git her. +An'—an'—she must take a drum like a boy—"</p> + +<p>Literal Muggs! Heaven alone knew by what other blood-thirsty +threats than Mom Murphy Mike had encompassed the stony silence and +frenzied drumming of the little sister who had never had a +Christmas.</p> + +<p>"But why," burst forth the despairing Doctor. "In heaven's +name—why—Muggs?"</p> + +<p>"She makes such awful faces," said Mike apologetically. "Mom +don't know what makes her that way." And then as Muggs was at the +climax of one of the spasms that had won her her name, the Doctor +suddenly lifted her in gentle arms and tossed her to the +ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Poor, poor little kiddy!" he said huskily. "What a price she's +paid for her Christmas."</p> + +<p>But Muggs had forgotten the price. Though it had been a hard day +the Doctor's eyes were kind and twinkly. Muggs buried her flushed +and tearful little face on his shoulder with a sigh of content. He +saw now that one knot of ribbon on the tousled, sunny curls would +have told the story, then he glanced at the bagging suit and opened +the door. Muggs went forth upon the Doctor's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Asher," cried the Doctor, "hitch old Polly to the sleigh and +telephone Sam Remsen that he can oblige me for once and open his +store."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg +63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ye—ye ain't goin' to send her home, are ye?" faltered +Mike.</p> + +<p>"I'm going," cried the Doctor, "to buy Clara Muggs a dress and a +doll. It's her night."</p> + +<p>The boys cheered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id= +"Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's When the Yule Log Burns, by Leona Dalrymple + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN THE YULE LOG BURNS *** + +***** This file should be named 17510-h.htm or 17510-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/5/1/17510/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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