The two-seated sleigh jingled merrily up the drive and stopped at the carriage block. Polly and Lois jumped out and turned to help Mrs. Farwell.

“Home again,” Polly exclaimed, joyfully looking around her with pardonable pride, for the splendid old house they were about to enter was her own, and every corner of it held the dearest of memories.

Lois and her mother were no less delighted to return to it. It had been Uncle Roddy’s suggestion that they all spend Christmas there, and every one had heartily agreed to it.

“How splendid it looks in the snow, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Farwell asked. “My, I shall be glad to see an open fire-place. I hope Sarah has started a fire in the drawing-room. Just put the bags in the hall, Tim,” she added, to the old coachman who was busy unloading the back of the sleigh. He nodded respectfully.

“Where’s Sandy?” Polly demanded, “I thought he’d be here to meet me, surely.”

Tim shook his head. “He’s gettin’ old, Miss Polly,” he said. “And he spends most of his time lying before the fire.”

Sandy was Polly’s beautiful big collie. She found him as Tim had said, a few minutes later, after Sarah had opened the door for them and ushered them in with a hearty welcome. He was lying on the hearth rug in the library. And as he heard Polly tip-toe in, he got up stiffly and held out his paw.

“Darling old fellow,” Polly said, dropping to her knees beside him, and patting his silky head.

Sandy licked her hand affectionately and made as great a fuss about her, as his rheumatic old joints would permit. Then Lois claimed her and together they roamed over the house, enjoying the spacious rooms and reveling in the blazing wood fires.

Bob and Jim arrived the next day with Dr. Farwell and Uncle Roddy. The sleigh was not large enough for Polly and Lois to go and meet them. So, to make up for it, Bob and Polly hitched Banker, the pony, to the cutter, later in the afternoon, and drove out into the woods in search of a Christmas tree.

“Get a nice bushy one,” Lois called after them, as they drove off. “And don’t get lost.”

Bob tucked the rug around Polly’s feet. “We won’t,” he called back. “Which direction?” he inquired.

“Down the hill and take the first turn to the right,” Polly told him. “Jemima! but it’s cold.” And she snuggled down in her furs. “I can’t believe this is Christmas Eve.”

“Neither can I,” Bob said. “What’s this I hear about you and Lois going to visit some one for New Year’s?”

“We’re going to Fanny Gerard’s,” Polly answered. “Won’t it be fun? She lives in South Carolina. We’re going specially for her New Year’s dance. It’s the event of the season and I’m so excited. I was afraid when the letter came, Aunt Kate wouldn’t let us go their being strangers and it’s so far, but it seems your darling father knew all about old Mr. Gerard and his sister, so it was all right, and we leave December thirtieth taking with us our very best clothes,” she added, smiling.

There was something like disapproval in Bob’s patient silence.

“Well, I hope you have a good time,” he said, finally. “But what you want to leave this place for to go South is more than I can see. It’s just like girls. They’d cross the country to dance. I think it’s a crazy idea, if you ask me,” he added with vehemence.

“But I didn’t, Bobby,” Polly answered sweetly. “Oh, there’s a wonderful tree! It’s just the right size and it’s bushy,” she exclaimed suddenly. “Do let’s get it.”

Bob pulled Banker in, and fumbled under the seat for the ax. But when they got out Polly found she had lost sight of the tree and they had to wade around in the snow up to their knees for fully ten minutes before they found another that suited them. They cut it down, dragged it to the sleigh and bore it home in triumph. It was dark long before they reached the house, and they found everybody dressed for dinner and waiting for them in the library.

“Oh, we’ve had a glorious ride!” Polly said brightly. Her cheeks were whipped red from the wind and her eyes sparkled.

“Is the tree bushy enough for you, Lo?” Bob asked.

“Yes, it’s a beauty,” Lois said, examining it.

“You two should have been with us,” Polly said, speaking to Jim, “just to have seen Bobby work.”

“While Polly told me how to do it,” Bob said, teasingly. “You’d think, to hear her talk, she’d cut down trees all her life. When she found that I wasn’t paying any attention to her, she got back in the sleigh and recited ‘Woodman Spare That Tree’ from the depths of the nice warm robes while I froze.”

“Bob,” said Polly, indignantly, “if you’ll let me pass, I’d like to go upstairs and dress for dinner.”

That evening, they decorated the tree, that is, Lois and Jim did most of it while Polly and Bob rested in two big chairs before the fire, with Sandy between them, and made suggestions.

“Jim, that tinsel would look much better going around the tree instead of up and down,” Bob said critically.

Jim, who was upon a stepladder, went on trimming, while Lois came to his defense.

“Bob, do you know what tinsel is supposed to represent,” she asked.

“Isn’t supposed to represent anything,” Bob said calmly.

Lois looked at Jim in sympathetic understanding. “You see, he doesn’t know,” she said. “Tinsel, dear brother, is supposed to represent the silver rays of the stars,” she explained.

“Oh, get out,” Bob objected. “It’s no such thing. Anyway, that has nothing to do with putting it around the tree.”

“Robert, you grieve me.” Jim shook his head mournfully. “You a college man. How could the rays of the stars go around a tree? I ask it in all seriousness.”

Bob was fairly caught. Even Polly laughed at him. Mrs. Farwell came in just in time to save him from more teasing.

“Oh, how beautiful the tree looks,” she said. “I wouldn’t put another thing on it, it’s quite perfect as it is. Come into the other room and sing some carols, and then we must all hang up our stockings and go to bed; to-morrow will be a busy day.”

“What are we going to do besides eat dinner?” Uncle Roddy demanded from the other room.

“Why, Sarah is packing some baskets for Polly to take to some of the poor families in the village,” Mrs. Farwell explained, “and of course, we’ll all go to church in the morning. In the afternoon I suppose

“Now, Kate,” interrupted the Doctor, laughing, “In the afternoon do let us digest our dinner.”

After they had all sung the carols around the old tinkly piano, they wished one another a Merry Christmas, found their candles on the big table in the hall for there were no electric lights in Polly’s house and went upstairs.

“Come along old man,” Polly said to Sandy. “Do you want some help?” she asked, as the old dog prepared to follow her. He always slept on the rug beside her bed.

“How feeble he is,” Bob said. “He doesn’t act a bit well, Poll.”

“It’s old age, I’m afraid,” Polly replied, sadly. “He’s over fourteen, you know.”

“I’m going to carry him up,” Bob said. “I believe it hurts him to take these steps.” He picked up Sandy ever so gently and carried him to Polly’s room. “Good night again,” he said at the door, “and Merry Christmas.”

But all the wishes in the world cannot make happiness. That Christmas Day was far from merry for either Polly or Bob.

About two o’clock in the morning Polly awoke with a start. Some one was groaning. As she sat up in bed and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, she felt something touch her arm. It was Sandy’s paw.

After groping about in the dark she found the matches and lighted her candle, and jumped out on the floor.

“What is it, boy?” she asked, resting his head in her lap.

Sandy rolled his eyes, as dogs do when they are in pain and the agonized appeal in them made a lump rise in Polly’s throat.

“Dear old fellow, what is it?” she said, gently. “What can I do for you!” She was seized with sudden fright. It seemed as if she alone was awake in all that black, still night. She called Lois two or three times but got no reply. She went to the door and listened. Her friend’s regular breathing came to her faintly from the other room.

“What can I do?” she whispered. “Oh, Sandy boy, don’t,” she pleaded as the dog groaned again.

A minute later, she was hurrying into her clothes. When she was dressed she tip-toed down the hall and knocked at the farthest door. “Bob,” she called softly.

“Yes,” came the instant reply. “What is it?” Fortunately the wind had rattled his shade, so that the noise had awakened him a few minutes before.

“Get up,” Polly called. “Sandy’s awfully sick and I’m frightened.”

Bob hurried into his things with full speed and joined her. Together they carried the dog into the morning room at the head of the stairs, and put him on the lounge. Bob lit the lamp.

“He can’t breathe,” Polly said desperately. “Oh, Bob, what can we do?”

Bob went for water and moistened the dog’s tongue while Polly held his head in her arms. His breathing grew more labored.

“Could Tim do anything?” Bob suggested, forlornly. He knew that he couldn’t, but it was terrible to just watch the dog suffer.

Polly shook her head. She didn’t dare trust herself to speak. After a little while the breathing grew quieter. Sandy turned his head and licked Polly’s hand. Then quite suddenly it stopped his body trembled and he lay still in her arms.

Bob put his hand on her shoulder.

“Better leave him, Poll,” he said huskily.

Polly looked up at him. It was a second before she understood.

“Bob, he’s not Oh, Sandy! You’ve left me,” she sobbed, and buried her head in his silky coat.

All Christmas day Polly tried to keep up her spirits and not spoil the others’ pleasure, but her heart had a dull, lonely ache that wouldn’t go away. Any one who has loved and lost a faithful dog understands. And Polly had loved Sandy from his first puppy days.

All the family did their best to cheer her up, but the day was a woeful failure. Uncle Roddy and Bob were the only ones who understood her grief, and their own was so great that they could find no words of comfort.

After dinner she disappeared. She knew that all the afternoon callers would be dropping in to exchange greetings, and she could not bear the thought of talking to them.

Bob found her about four o’clock, curled up on her favorite window seat, at the head of the stairs. He had been despatched by his mother to tell her that some of her friends were in the drawing-room.

“If she doesn’t want to come don’t urge her,” she had warned him. “I’ll make some excuse.”

“Bobby, I just can’t,” Polly said when he had told her. “My eyes are all swollen and I’ve such a headache.”

“What you need is air,” Bob said decidedly. “Go get your coat and hat, and we’ll fly off with Banker for a little ride. Come on, Poll,” he coaxed, “it will do you loads of good.”

Polly gave in reluctantly.

“Where are we going?” she asked when they were in the sleigh.

“Never mind, I’ve a scheme,” Bob told her. “Shut your eyes.” He headed the pony toward the bay. The cold air acted as a tonic on Polly. By the time they stopped before an old tumble down fisherman’s hut, she was quite herself again.

“Why, it’s Uncle Cy’s place!” she exclaimed. “Bobby, how did you ever think of him?”

They pushed open the door, without knocking, and entered the one little room that served for all purposes.

Uncle Cy was one of Polly’s earliest and best of friends; he was an old fisherman. They had spent many long, happy days together, when she was a little girl. He welcomed her heartily.

“Why, Miss Polly. I was beginning to think I’d have to go one Christmas without a word from you,” he said. “How are you? You’re getting mighty handsome,” he teased “and I’m sorry to see it. I never did hold with handsome women. ‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ I always say,” he added with a wink. “And you, Mr. Bob, how do you do again? That basket you brought me this morning was mighty good,” he said with a chuckle.

“We’re just here for a second,” Polly explained. “Banker’s freezing outside. Have you had a Merry Christmas?” she asked brightly. No one could be unhappy long under the spell of Uncle Cy’s genial smile.

“Fair to middling,” the old man answered, contentedly. “Have a seat,” he offered.

They stayed chatting for a few minutes more, and then returned to the sleigh.

“The old darling,” Polly laughed, “he hasn’t changed a bit.”

When they reached home, they stole in the back way. One of Lois’ merry laughs greeted them as they entered.

“Jimmy, you wretch,” they heard her cry.

“What’s the matter, Lo?” Bob inquired from the door of the drawing-room.

Lois looked up in confusion.

“Jim kissed me under the mistletoe,” she said, “after I’d expressly told him not to.”

Polly joined in the laugh that followed.

“Bobby,” she said as they were taking off their coats in the hall, “I’m ashamed of being such a baby to-day. I acted as if I were eight years old.”

Bob pulled a big wadded handkerchief out of one of his pockets. “Don’t apologize, Poll,” he said. “Look at this. I wasn’t so very grown up myself.” Then he added, gently, “Good old Sandy.”