"Then,
my boy, we claim you as our own. Cassius' home is your home, his family
your family, his----"
The address of welcome was cut short by Cass's arrival with an armful of
wood which he deposited on the hearth, and a moment later the girls,
followed by Edwin, came trooping in from the kitchen.
"Let's make a circle round the fire and sing the old year out," suggested
Rose gaily. "Myrna, get the banjo and the guitar. Shall I play on the
piano, Papa Claude, or will you?"
Mr. Martel, expressing the noble sentiment that age should always be an
accompaniment to youth, took his place at the piano and, with a pose
worthy of Rubinstein, struck a few preliminary chords, while the group
about the fire noisily settled itself for the evening.
"You can put your head against my knees, if you like," Rose said to Quin,
who was sprawling on the floor at her feet. "There, is that comfy?"
"I'll say it's all right!" said Quin with heartfelt satisfaction.
There was something free and easy and gipsy-like about the evening, a
sort of fireside picnic that brought June dreams in January. As the hours
wore on, the singing, which had been noisy and rollicking, gradually
mellowed into sentiment, a sentiment that found vent in dreamy eyes and
long-drawn-out choruses, with a languorous over-accentuation of the
sentimental passages.
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