Farrington household was conducted on a most elaborate plan, and their dinners were usually very formal and conventional. But to-night was an exception, and, save for the solemn butler and grave footmen, everybody in the room was bubbling over with laughter and merriment.
“I’m not hungry any more,” declared Bobby, after he had done full justice to several courses; “let’s hurry up, and have the tree.”
“Wait, Bobs,” advised Hester; “we haven’t had the ice cream yet.”
“Oh, that’s so,” said Bobby; “can’t we have it now, mother, and skip these flummerydiddles?”
He looked scornfully at the dainty salad that had just been placed before him, but Mrs. Farrington only smiled, not caring to remind him of the laws of table etiquette on a festive occasion.
“Have patience, Bobby, dear,” she said; “the ice cream will come next; and, too, you know the longer the dinner, the later you can sit up.”
“That’s so!” agreed Bobby. “My, but Christmas Eve is fun! Wish I could sit up late every night.”
“But it wouldn’t be Christmas Eve every night,” said Patty, smiling at the chubby-faced boy.
“That’s so! Neither no more it wouldn’t! Well, I wish it was Christmas Eve every night, then!”
“That’s right,” laughed Patty. “Make a good big wish while you’re about it.”
Then the ice cream was served and of course it was in shapes of Christmas trees, and Santa Clauses, and sprigs of holly, and Christmas bells, and Patty’s portion was a lovely spray of mistletoe bough.
“Ho, ho!” laughed Kenneth, seeing it across the table; “another good chance lost! You know the penalty, Patty, if you’re caught under the mistletoe. But of course if you eat mistletoe, the charm fails.”
“I’m willing it should,” said Patty, as she took up her spoon. “I’m not pining for a rustic swain to kiss me ’neath the mistletoe bough.”
Patty looked very roguish and provoking as she said this, and Mr. Farrington said, gallantly:
“Ah, no, perhaps not. But the swains are doing the pining, without doubt.”
Now Roger sat on the other side of Patty, and as his father finished speaking, he said, apparently apropos of nothing:
“Mother, are these your Spode plates, or are they Cauldon ware?”
“They’re Spode, Roger; why do you want to know? Are you suddenly becoming interested in China?”
“Yes,” he replied; “are you sure, mother, these are Spode?”
He lifted the handsome plate in front of him, and gazed intently at the mark on its under side, as he held it just above the level of his eyes.
“Be careful, Roger, you’ll spill your ice cream,” admonished his father.
“No, I won’t, sir,” he said, as he replaced his plate. “But I never saw Spode with this decoration before. Let me look at yours, Patty.”
He took up Patty’s plate of ice cream, and lifting it quite high studied the stamp on that.
Suddenly he moved it, until the dish of mistletoe ice cream was directly over Patty’s head.
“Fairly caught!” he cried; “under the mistletoe!” And before Patty caught the jest, Roger had kissed her pretty pink cheek, and then calmly restored her plate of ice cream to its place in front of her.
“You villain!” she cried, glaring at him, and pretending to be greatly offended, but smiling in spite of herself at his clever ruse.
“Good for you, my boy!” cried Mr. Farrington, clapping his hands. “I wish I had thought of that myself. But it’s a game that won’t work twice.”
“Indeed it won’t!” said Patty, “I’ll take care of that!” and she began to eat her mistletoe ice cream in proof of her words.
“It never can happen again,” said Kenneth, in sad tones, as he watched the “mistletoe” disappear. “But I’ll not give up all hope. It’s still Christmas Eve, and there are other mistletoes and other manners.”
“And other girls,” said Patty, glancing mischievously at Elise.
“Yes, there are four of us,” said Louise, so innocently that they all laughed.
“All right, Louise,” said Kenneth, “you find a nice, big spray of mistletoe, after dinner, and wear it in that big topknot bow of yours, and I’ll promise to kiss you on both cheeks.”
But Louise was too shy to respond to this repartee, and she dropped her eyes in confusion.
“Now,” said Mrs. Farrington, as she rose from the table, “we’ll have our Christmas Waits sing carols, and then we’ll have our tree.”
The children understood this, and Hester and Bobby at once ran out of the room. A few moments later they returned, dressed in trailing white robes, like surplices, and before they reached the drawing-room, their childish voices could be heard singing old-fashioned carols.
They had been well trained, and sang very prettily, and as they appeared in the doorway, Patty could scarcely believe that these demure little white-robed figures were the two merry children.
After two or three carols by the “Waits,” the whole party joined in a Christmas chorus, and Patty’s clear soprano rang out sweetly in the harmony.
“What a lovely voice you have, Patty, dear,” said Mrs. Farrington, as the song was done; “it has improved greatly since I heard you last. Are you taking lessons?”
“I shall, Mrs. Farrington, after we get fairly settled. Father wants me to begin as soon as he can find the right teacher.”
“Yes, indeed; you must do so. It would be a shame not to cultivate such a talent as that.”
“You have improved, Patty!” declared Kenneth. “My! but your voice is stunning. I expect we’ll see you on the concert stage yet.”
“More likely on a Fifth Avenue stage,” said Patty, laughing.
“Now for the tree!” exclaimed Bobby, who had thrown aside his white robe, and was ready for the fun to begin.
The tree had been set up in the indoor tennis-court, which was in the Casino.
This Casino, practically another house, opened from the great hall of the Farrington mansion, and its various apartments were devoted to different sorts of amusements.
The tennis court made a fine setting for the Christmas celebration, and had been carefully prepared for the great event.
The floor was covered with white canton flannel, so arranged over slight ridges and hummocks that it looked exactly like a field of drifted snow.
The tree, at the end of the room, was the largest that could be obtained, and was loaded with beautiful ornaments and decorations, and glittering with electric lights of all colours.
Patty had seen many Christmas trees, but never such a large or splendid one, and it almost took her breath away.
“I didn’t know trees ever grew so big,” she said. “How did you get it into the house?”
“It was difficult,” said Mr. Farrington. “I had to engineer the job myself. But Bobby asked for a big tree, and as the children are growing up so fast, I wanted to humour him.”
As Patty had often said, “for a millionaire, Mr. Farrington was the kindest man she ever knew.”
Though wealthy, he had no desire for display or ostentatious extravagance, but he loved to please his children, and was sufficiently rewarded by their enjoyment of the pleasures he provided.
Now, he was as frankly delighted with Bobby’s enthusiasm as Bobby was with his tree.
“Come on, old chappie,” he cried; “you shall be Santa Claus, and distribute the gifts.”
Meantime,