It lacked but six days till Christmas. Mr. Wrenn's heart was a
little garden, and his eyes were moist, and he peeped tenderly
at Nelly as he saw the holly and ivy and the frosted Christmas
mottoes, "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men," and the rest, that
brightened the spaces between windows.
Christmas--happy homes--laughter.... Since, as a boy, he had
attended the Christmas festivities of the Old Church
Sunday-school at Parthenon, and got highly colored candy in a
net bag, his holidays had been celebrated by buying himself plum
pudding at lonely Christmas dinners at large cheap restaurants,
where there was no one to wish him "Merry Christmas" except
his waiter, whom he would quite probably never see again, nor
ever wish to see.
But this Christmas--he surprised himself and Nelly suddenly by
hotly thrusting out his hand and touching her sleeve with the
searching finger-tips of a child comforted from night fears.
During the sermon he had an idea. What was it Nelly had told
him about "Peter Pan"? Oh yes; somebody in it had said "Do you
believe in fairies?" _Say_, why wouldn't it be great to have the
millionaire's daughter say to her father, "Do you believe in love?"
"Gee, _I_ believe in love!" he yearned to himself, as he felt
Nelly's arm unconsciously touch his.
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