CHRISTMAS WITH JUDGE
It was Christmas Eve, and the great soft flakes of snow that fell
continuously gave every indication of a white Christmas. The north wind
howled and blustered through the tree tops, making the judge and his
young guests congratulate themselves on being safely sheltered from the
storm.
The day had been clear and cold, and the entire party had driven on
bob-sleds to the strip of woods just outside the town, where the boys
had cut down a Christmas tree, and had brought it triumphantly home,
while the girls had piled the sleds with evergreens and ground pine. On
the return a stop had been made at the market, and great quantities of
holly had been bought. Even the sprig of mistletoe for the chandelier in
the hall had not been forgotten.
"We'll hurry up and get everything ready before the judge comes in,"
planned Grace. "We'll put this mistletoe right here, and Nora, you must
see to it that you lead him over until he stands directly under it. Then
we will all surround him. Miriam, will you tell Miss Putnam? We want her
to be in it, too."
The young folks worked untiringly and a little before five the last
trail of ground pine was in place, and the decorators stood back and
reviewed their work with pride.
The great hall and drawing room had been transformed into a veritable
corner of the forest, and the red holly berries peeping out from the
green looked like little flame-colored heralds of Christmas. Here and
there a poinsettia made a gorgeous blot of color, while on an
old-fashioned mahogany what-not stood an immense bowl of deep-red roses,
the joint contribution of the Phi Sigma Tau.
"It looks beautiful," sighed Jessica, "we really ought to feel proud of
ourselves."
The entire party was grouped about the big drawing room.
"I am always proud of myself," asserted Hippy. "In the first place there
is a great deal of me to be proud of; and in the second place I don't
believe in hiding my light under a bushel."
"Now Jessica, you have started him," said David with a groan. "He'll
talk about himself for an hour unless Reddy and I lead him out."
"I dare you to lead me out," defied Hippy.
"I never take a dare," replied David calmly, making a lunge for Hippy.
"Come on, Reddy."
Reddy sprang forward and Hippy was hustled out, chanting as he went:
"Now children do not blame me, for I have so
much to say,
That from myself I really cannot tear myself
away,"
and remained outside for the space of two minutes, when he suddenly
reappeared wearing Grace's coat and Miriam Nesbit's plumed hat and
performed a wild dance down the middle of the room that made his friends
shriek with laughter.
"Hippy, when will you be good?" inquired Miriam, as she rescued her hat,
and smoothed its ruffled plumes.
"Never, I hope," replied Hippy promptly.
"That's the judge's ring," cried Grace as the sound of the bell echoed
through the big room, and the guests flocked into the hall to welcome
their host.
"This is what I call a warm reception," laughed Judge Putnam, as he
stood surrounded by laughing faces.
"I claim the privilege of escorting Judge Putnam down the hall," cried
Nora, and she conducted him directly to where the mistletoe hung.
"I must be an object of envy to you young men," chuckled the judge, as
he walked unsuspectingly to his fate.
"The mistletoe! The mistletoe! You're standing under the mistletoe!" was
the cry and the seven girls and Miss Putnam joined hands and circled
around the judge. Then each girl in turn stepped up and imprinted a kiss
on the good old judge's cheek.
[Illustration: The Girls Circled Around the Judge]
"Well, I never!" exclaimed the old gentleman, but there were tears in
his blue eyes and his voice trembled as he said to his sister, who was
the last to salute him, "It takes me back over the years, Mary."
It was a merry party that ran upstairs to dress for dinner that night,
and the spirit of Christmas seemed to have settled down upon the judge's
borrowed household.
The only thing that had dimmed Grace Harlowe's pleasure in the least was
the passage at arms that had occurred between herself and Henry Hammond.
Grace's conscience smote her. She felt that she should not have spoken
to him as she had, even though she disliked him. To be sure, his remark
about Marian's gown had caused her inwardly to accuse him of influencing
Marian to make herself ridiculous in the eyes of her friends, but she
could not forgive herself for having unthinkingly spoken as she had
done.
After due reflection Grace decided that she had acted unwisely, and made
up her mind that she would try to make amends for her unkind retort. She
decided, however, to see if she could not persuade Marian to go back to
her usual style of dress.
Grace hurried through her dressing, and looking very sweet and wholesome
in her dainty blue organdie, knocked at the door of the room occupied by
Marian and Eva Allen.
"Come in," cried Eva's voice, and Grace entered, to find Eva completely
dressed in a pretty white pongee, eyeing with great disfavor the
tight-fitting princess gown of black silk that the maid was struggling
to hook Marian into.
"Marian!" exclaimed Grace. "What ever made you have a black evening
gown? It makes you look years older than you are."
"That's exactly what I told her," said Eva Allen, "but she won't believe
it."
Marian looked sulky, then said rather sullenly: "I really can't see what
difference it makes to you girls what I wear. I haven't interfered with
you in the matter of your gowns, have I?"
"No," replied Grace truthfully, "but Marian, I think the judge likes to
see us in the simple evening dresses we have been accustomed to wearing,
and as we are his guests we ought to try and please him. Besides, you
would look so much better in your white embroidered dress, or your pink
silk, that you wore to commencement last year."
"I don't agree with, you at all," replied Marian so stiffly that the
maid smiled openly, as she put the final touches to Marian's hair
preparatory to adjusting the cluster of puffs that had completed her
astonishing coiffure the night before. "Furthermore, I have been assured
by persons of extreme good taste that my new gowns give me a distinct
individuality I have never before possessed."
"That person of extreme good taste is named Hammond," thought Grace.
"That remark about 'individuality' sounds just like him. I'll make one
more appeal to her."
Going over to where Marian stood viewing herself with satisfaction in
the long mirror, Grace slipped her arm around her old friend.
"Listen, dear," she coaxed, "we mustn't quarrel on Christmas Eve. You
know we are all Phi Sigma Taus and it seems so strange to see you
looking so stately and grown up. Put on your white dress to-night, just
to please me."
But Marian drew away from her, frowning angrily. "Really, Grace," she
exclaimed, "you are too provoking for any use, and I wish you would mind
your own business and let me wear what I choose."
"Please pardon me, Marian," said Grace, turning toward the door. "I am
sorry to have troubled you," and was gone like a flash.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Marian Barber!" burst forth Eva.
"The idea of telling Grace to mind her own business! You haven't been a
bit like yourself lately, and I know that it's all on account of that
Henry Hammond, the old snake."
"You will oblige me greatly, Eva, by referring more respectfully to my
friend, Mr. Hammond," said Marian with offended dignity. Then she sailed
out of the room, her train dragging half a yard behind her, while Eva
turned to the mirror with a contemptuous sniff and powdered her little
freckled nose almost savagely before following her irate roommate down
stairs.