The years rolled back, the previous months of sorrow and suffering were
forgotten; the day, the hour, with its associations, the eager child that
nestled close to her, made her a child again. She yielded wholly to her
mood; she would be a little girl once more, Johnnie's companion in
feeling and delight; and the morning of her life was still so new that
the impulses of that enchanted age before the light of experience has
defined the world into its matter-of-fact proportions came back unforced
and unaffected. Her voice vied with Johnnie's in its notes of excitement
and pleasure, and to more than one who heard her it seemed that their
first impression was correct, that a little child had come to them, and
that the tall, graceful maiden was a myth.

"Merry Christmas, Amy!" cried the voice of Webb on the stairs.

The child vanished instantly, and a blushing girl let fall the half-emptied
stocking. Something in that deep voice proved that if she were not yet a
woman, she had drawn so near that mystery of life that its embarrassing
self-consciousness was beginning to assert itself. "How silly he will think
me!" was her mental comment, as she returned his greeting in a voice that
was rather faint.

The "rising bell" now resounded through the house, and she sprang up with
the purpose of making amends by a manner of marked dignity. And yet there
remained with her a sense of home security, of a great and new-found
happiness, which the cold gray morning could not banish. The air-tight
stove glowed with heat and comfort, and she afterward learned that Mrs.
Leonard had replenished the fire so noiselessly as not to awaken her. The
hearty Christmas greetings of the family as she came into the
breakfast-room were like an echo of the angels' song of "good-will." The
abounding kindliness and genuine pleasure at her presence made the feeling