Chapter 5 CHRISTMAS.

Mary never forgot that Midnight Mass. The beautiful altar decked with countless lights and masses of crimson roses; the kind, old, white-haired priest; the incense, the music, the wonderful Crib, which she could see from where she knelt beside her uncle in one of the front pews-all made her wish that her father and mother were there, too. After the two morning Masses, the children rushed to the recreation room for a peep at their gifts before breakfast. The great tree at the far end of the room first caught their eyes.

It was bright with colored lights, and was turning slowly around in the metal box in which it stood, and from which came forth the sweet tones of the Adeste, Holy Night, and other Christmas hymns. The branches of the tree bent low with the weight of gifts and goodies.

"Oh! oh! see the big bunches of white grapes and the raisins and the oranges and-and everything!"

"Yes, and all those boxes tied up in white paper with holly ribbon, and our names on them. Last year the tree wasn't half so splendid."

"You must thank Doctor Carlton for all the extra things," Sister Austin explained. "He is one of Santa Claus' helpers, you know; and besides many of the presents and good things, he brought with him the lights and the musical stand which have been used every year for Mary's tree."

The covers of their boxes from home had been loosened so that the children could remove them easily; and such ohs! and ahs! and cries of delight as filled the big room! There were two boxes for Mary, who could scarcely wait until her uncle had opened them. He first pried off the cover of the one bearing a foreign label; and with eager hands, the little girl unwrapped a beautiful, white marble statue of Our Lady of Lourdes, her mother's gift. Then came a small mosaic picture of her favorite Madonna and a blackeyed, dark-haired doll dressed in Italian costume, from her father; an album of Kodak pictures of the babies with a tiny card saying, "To our big sister from Berta and Beth;" a dear, little, white, knitted sack for Amelia Anabelle from Aunt Mandy; and a gay card from Tom. Two flat boxes for her uncle and aunt contained some fine large photographs of famous paintings and other gifts suitable for them.

The second box was filled with books and games which the Doctor had told Santa Claus to bring her. Nor had the little suitcase been forgotten; and opening it, Mary found a travelling case containing brush, comb, tooth and nail-brush holders, and all that she would need on the journey. A dear little prayer book from her aunt and holy pictures and medals from a number of the Sisters made her feel that she had fared very well indeed; and in spite of her great longing for the dear ones so far away, Christmas was a very happy day for her.

The greatest fun came just after supper when the sound of sleighbells outside the windows surprised the children. Presently, Mother Johanna herself ushered Santa Claus into the room-a dear, roly-poly, little old man, his hair and beard shining with frost. Effie and the younger children took refuge in the folds of Sister Austin's habit; but Mary, fearing that he might think he was not welcome, overcame her shyness, and running to him, caught his hand in both of hers and led him to the tree. The Doctor mounted a ladder, and beginning at the very top of the tree, handed Santa Claus the presents and good things which he, with funny little speeches, then presented to the children. But the tree was not stripped by any means. All the lights and tinsel and gay balls and other ornaments were left on it to delight the little folks during the holidays.

The happy day closed with Benediction, and Mary went to bed looking forward to her visit to Gene's home.

But when the Doctor came up from the chaplain's cottage the following morning, he told her that it had grown so much colder during the night that he really feared to take her with him. "It is ten below zero, and your poor little nose would be frozen during the long drive from the station to Mr. Donnelly's. I shall be back early."

At noon, however, Sister Madeline came to tell Mary that her uncle had just telephoned to say that Mr. Donnelly was far worse than he had expected to find him, and that they were preparing to take him to a hospital in the city.

"And--and won't Uncle come back here this evening, Aunt Mary?"

"He wishes you to meet the four o'clock train and return home with him. Several things make it impossible for him to stop off here again. So we must lose our dear little guest."

"I am truly sorry to go, Aunt Mary, for I have had such a good time in spite of--of--oh, it will be so lonely at home now without Gene. Uncle can be there only in the morning for a little while and at noon and in the evening."

"Don't borrow trouble, dear. Uncle has a beautiful plan; but as it is a surprise for you, I think it would be unfair to tell it now. Come, we shall pack your suitcase, and then you will still have some time to play with the children."

Great was their disappointment when Mary told her little friends that she was about to leave them. In spite of the intense cold, all insisted on going to the station with her. The Doctor was on the platform of the car when the train stopped, and springing off, he lifted Mary aboard. Entering the car, the little girl spied Gene coming down the aisle to meet her. Mr. Donnelly and his wife were in the drawing-room, where the poor sufferer had been made as comfortable as possible. Gene took Mary to meet her father and mother, and then brought her back to the doctor, who at once began to explain matters to her.

"I thought it best to bring Mr. Donnelly in to the city this evening as it would make it easier for Gene and her mother to have me with them to manage things. We drove him to the station in an ambulance, and one will be waiting to meet this train. You will be glad to know that Gene will be with us until we leave for Texas. She and her mother will stay at our home while Mr. Donnelly is at the hospital, where he will probably be for some months. I shall feel better knowing that someone is looking after things during our absence. Liza and Susie are always to be trusted, of course; but they have never been left alone for any length of time."

This was merely the Doctor's way of making things easy for Gene and her mother. Mary was delighted with the plan, as much for Gene's sake as for her own.