The young man,who had lately undergone a most remarkable of transformations,sipped his cherry coke and plundered his plate of pot-luck pilferage.A tear came to his eye,and it was the joy of visiting a place from which he had been long absent,but had well remembered:Christmas Eve,with its atmosphere of satisfaction and comradeship.Around him,many candles gleamed.In honor,they said,of a child born long ago for the good of man,and for two children of their own.

He had not noticed her until the sound of a mandolin ringing drew his attention to the solitary woman seated by the roaring fire,a sprig of holly pinned above her heart.It had been long,but her youthful face was as familiar to him as his own.She smiled as he crossed the room to take her by the hand,and as the musicians began to play The Holly and the Ivy he held her to him,and they danced.