imagination. And lo! this lonely Candy Man was bidden to a tree on
Christmas Eve, by her ladyship. He could not believe his eyes.

"It takes you a long time to read it," said Virginia. "You'd better
come. It's late."

Dark was beginning to fall outside, but the Little Red Chimney room was
full of firelight when the Candy Man was ushered in, in the wake of the
children, by cordial Uncle Bob. It was a frolicsome, magical light that
played about a row of red stockings hanging from the shelf above it;
that advanced to the farthest corner and then retreated; that coaxed and
dared the unlighted Christmas tree by the piano to wake up and do its
part; that gleamed in Miss Bentley's hair as she seated the pigeons in
a semicircle on the rug.

Was it the magic of the firelight, or the absence of the grey hat, or
the blue frock with its deep white collar, or, or--The Candy Man got no
further with his questions, for just then Margaret Elizabeth turned and
gave him her hand, explaining that they were so much stiller when they
sat on the floor. She added that it was very good of him to come--a
purely conventional and entirely inaccurate statement. He was also
instructed to sit on the sofa with Uncle Bob.

"And now," began Miss Bentley, standing with her back to the row of red
stockings and looking into the upturned faces, "we are going to be
rather quiet, for this, you know, is both Christmas Eve and Sunday.
First, we'll sing 'While Shepherds Watched,' very softly."

She sat down at the piano and struck a few chords, then her voice rose,
clear and sweet, the pigeons following her lead, a bit quaveringly at