Old Bishop Chartley came down as usual for the service, and the chapel,
fragrant with pine and spicy cedar boughs and lighted only by tall white
candles, was just as Lloyd had described it, when she told of the
Bishop's talk about keeping the White Feast on the birthday of the King.
When the great doors swung wide for the white-robed choir to enter,
Mary knew that it was only the Dardell twins leading in the processional
with flute and cornet. But as they came slowly up the dim aisle under
the arches of Christmas greens, their wide, flowing sleeves falling back
from their arms, they made her think of two of Fra Angelico's
trumpet-blowing angels, and she clasped her hands with a quick indrawing
of breath. The high silvery flute notes and the mellow alto of the deep
horn were like the voices of the Seraphim, leading all the others in
their pean of "Glad tidings of great joy." Oh, it was good to be at a
school like this she thought with a throb of deep thankfulness. And it
was so good to know that all her plans had worked out happily, and her
Christmas gifts for the girls were just what she wanted them to be. Her
thoughts strayed away from the service a moment to recall the little
bundles she had hidden in Elise's and A.O.'s suit-cases, and the package
she had ready for Ethelinda, a prettily scalloped linen cover for her
dressing-table with her initials, worked in handsome block letters in
the centre.

No regrets clouded her face next morning, when she stood at the door,
watching the last 'bus load of merry girls start home for the holidays.
She was not going home herself. Arizona was too far away. But she had
something more thrilling than that in prospect--a visit to Joyce in New
York, she and Betty, and Christmas day with Eugenia, at the beautiful
Tremont home out on the Hudson. She had been hearing about it for the
last two years. And there was Eugenia's baby she was eager to see, the