" But tell me about this girl, with whom, as you say, I am in
love. Is she beautiful, very beautiful ?"
" That I cannot say," she answers.
" Is she slender and brunette, and has she the prettiest of hazel
eyes ?" he inquires, eagerly, bending forward to catch the ex
pression of her face.
" Yes," she replies, blushing.
" And her hair," he pursues, " is a golden brown ?"
"Yes," again, just loud enough to be audible.
" And you say that I love her ?"
" Yes," she whispers. " More than you yourself knoW."
" Then tell me," he pleads, " does she love me ?"
The averted face is. slowly turned toward him and two soft
bright eyes are raised to'his, In their limpid depths he reads his
answer, and is happy.
After several minutes of blissful silence Theo. again speaks.
" Tell me, Maude, who was that dark young fellow with you
last night? I was terribly jealous of him."
"Of him ?" she exclaims. " Oh, Theo., how could you ? Why
that was my brother Ned, just returned from Gcettingen."
And they laughed softly at what had been a groundless fear.
It was Christmas eve. Outside, in the street, gay crowds came
and went through the silently falling snow, frequently accosting
each other with cries of " Merry Christmas." Within her humble
cottage, Barbara Ford sat before an open fire and smiled sadly as
she heard these expressions of goodwill. She hoped that all might
have a " Merry Christmas," and she herself expected it.
One Christmas eve, five long years ago, had come the turning
point in her uneventful life. For it was then that Philip Lansford
had told her the old, old story, and she had believed him implicitly.
A short time later he had left for foreign lands to carve his
fortune, as he said. And ere he went he promised to return
when fortune had smiled upon him and fulfill the vow he had
made.
But Christmas had come and gone many times and she had
heard no tidings of the wanderer. Yet through all those many
The Free Lance.
" MERRY CHRISTMAS."
A SKETCH
P [DECEMBER,