Even Cyrus, who was accustomed to look upon
himself as the cool-blooded senior among his band of intimates, tingled
a little.
"You're just in time for dinner--I'm so glad," laughed Miss Myrtle. "A
Christmas dinner with a whole tribe of Farrars, big and little."
"But our baggage hasn't come on yet," answered Garst ruefully. "Will
Mrs. Farrar excuse our appearing in travelling rig?"
"Indeed she will!" answered for herself a fair, motherly-looking English
woman, as pretty as Myrtle save for the gold-brown hair, while she came
a few steps into the hall to welcome her sons' friends.
Five minutes afterwards the Americans found themselves seated at a table
garlanded with red-berried holly, trailing ivy, and pearl-eyed
mistletoe, and surrounded by a round dozen of Farrars, including several
youngsters whose general place was in schoolroom or nursery, but who,
even to a tot of three, were promoted to dine in splendor on Christmas
Day.
"Well, this is festive!" remarked Cyrus to Myrtle, who sat next to him,
when, after much preparatory feasting, an English plum-pudding,
wreathed, decorated, and steaming, came upon the scene.
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