and her mother were deep in preparations for the day. Cecily and
the Story Girl were excluded from these doings with indifference
on Aunt Janet's part and what seemed ostentatious complacency on
Felicity's. Cecily took this to heart and complained to me about
it.

"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is," she said,
with as much indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't think
she need shut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the
raisins for the mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself,
because Christmas mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn't
stone raisins right! The airs Felicity puts on about her cooking
just make me sick," concluded Cecily wrathfully.

"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a while
herself," I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so much
more than other people."

All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken
charge of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the
great day of the feast itself. How slowly the last week passed!
But even watched pots will boil in the fulness of time, and
finally Christmas day came, gray and dour and frost-bitten
without, but full of revelry and rose-red mirth within. Uncle
Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over early for the
day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to be
hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be
able to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home
with her.