"
She turned back to the piano and, after a random chord or two, she played
the _Alan Breck Overture_, played it so well that even its creator was
pleased, as he listened. Then she rose, shut the piano and crossed the
room to the fireside.
"Mr. Barrett," she said, and her voice never betrayed the fact that this
moment was the hardest she had ever known; "when you go back to New
York, will you try to find me some little girls to teach? I'll do the
best I can for them, and perhaps I can help along a little in making
both ends meet."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The snow drifts were piled high about The Savins. The fences were buried,
great heaps of snow lay on the broad east terrace and the path to the
front door had become a species of tunnel. Christmas was close at hand
and the earth, as if to make ready for the sweetest festival of the year,
had wrapped itself in a thick, soft blanket, dazzling and pure as the
stars shining in the eastern sky above.
Christmas was always a high day at The Savins. Ever since Theodora was a
little child, the family tradition had been unbroken, the family rite
unchanged. Around the Christmas basket and before the Christmas fire, the
young McAlisters had gathered for their childish revels. Now, grown to
manhood and womanhood, they still gathered there and, for one night in
the year at least, they were children still, and their revel had lost
none of its old charm.
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