Dr. Kirby went with her to the library; in the center of the broad
square room stood the tree, its slender tip just escaping the ceiling.

"And I trimmed it nearly all myself!" Patricia explained, proudly. "Aunt
Julia had to go out. Maybe you don't think I've been busy to-day, Daddy!
I don't know but what it is a good thing that Christmas doesn't come
more than once a year."

"I should be bankrupt if it did," the doctor said, pulling one of
Custard's long ears. "An only daughter is rather an expensive luxury."

"As if I were anything more than a plain every-day necessity! And not
such an incapable after all, am I, Daddy?"

"Not when it comes to Christmas-trees."

"Daddy, see, it's beginning to snow!"

"We're going to have a white Christmas, all right," the doctor said;
then, as the telephone rang sharply, he went to answer it.

Patricia heard him give a sudden exclamation, ask one or two rapid
questions; then he hung up the receiver and came back to the library
door.

"Patricia," he said, "there has been a bad accident down at the
curve--the eastern express--they are bringing the injured up here to the
hotel. 'Phone your aunt for me; and remember, _you_ are not to
leave the house."