It is something heavenly and cannot be touched by things of the earth. My child, have you been thinking to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ by arranging circumstances around yourself like cushions and settling down comfortably in them? And remember this, too, dear, if this friendship with Harold Warner is something that God has planned to crown your life with joy, nothing, not even a storm, nor some little lack of thoughtfulness, nor even some strong chain of circumstances can stop it. Not if it is of God! So you can safely trust your happiness with Him, who knows the end from the beginning. And if this friendship is not of God, Daryl, you wouldn’t want to try to get happiness where God had not planned if for you, would you?”

“I suppose not,” said Daryl tonelessly.

“Well then, dear, can’t you just take it all and lay it in His hands and trust your happiness with Him?”

Daryl didn’t answer quickly. Then she said slowly, wearily, “Yes, Mother, but somehow I can’t quite sense it tonight! I’m just awfully—shocked—I guess it is.”

“But my dear!” said her mother, “aren’t you making a great deal out of his not coming tonight?”

“No, Mother!” The answer was grave and decided. Her mother looked at her puzzled.

“Where is he, dear?”

“At Bayport!”

“At Bayport! But that isn’t twenty miles away!”

“I know,” said Daryl significantly.

“What’s he doing there?”

“He’s at a house party! His boss’s daughter invited him.”

“And didn’t invite you?”

“Yes, she invited me after a fashion—I guess! He said she said I might come, too. She sent word for me to take a taxi and come over!”

“My dear! And didn’t Harold even suggest coming after you?”

“Oh, in a way. But as if I would go away from our Christmas and you for any party with a lot of strangers! Our Christmas!”

“But my dear,” said her mother anxiously, “if Harold is there?” She ventured fearsomely: “You know if you don’t feel that way about him there is certainly something wrong.”

Daryl faced about to the window and stared into the storm, saying nothing, her very back eloquent of distress.

Then the mother spoke again.

“You know unless you can be happy anywhere just because he is there, he ought not to be anything to you but a casual acquaintance. Something is wrong somewhere, dear.”

But Daryl stood motionless, frozen into the very personification of sorrow. Then suddenly she spoke quickly, as if the words were drawn from her agonized heart by a force she could not resist.

“I guess there is, Mother. I guess that must be what’s the matter!”

Her voice was quivering and full of tears.

Then the mother went swiftly and gathered her girl into her arms and drew her face close to hers!

“My precious child!” she murmured softly in her ear, “God has been very good to you to let you find it out before it was too late!” And she laid her soft lips on Daryl’s hot quivering eyelids and kissed away the tears that came slipping out in spite of the girl’s bravest efforts.

Just a moment they clung together and the tears had their way, and then they heard Father Devereaux and Ruth coming from the kitchen where the last rites of the supper dishes had been performed. Father was calling them.

“Mother! Daryl! Where are you? Ruth and I have got the work all done, and now we want to keep holiday. This is Christmas Eve you know, and we mustn’t have long faces when the boys get back. Is everything ready to welcome them?”

Daryl sprang away from her mother’s arms and up the stairs, calling as she went, “Yes, Father, I’ll be down in just a minute. I want to tidy up my hair a little!”

But the mother went and sat in the big chair at the side of the fire where her face would be in shadow and tried to take this great thing which her child had told her, conscious that it might be God’s way of answering her own agonized prayers about this friendship her girl had formed with the attractive young man of the world. Conscious, too, that it might mean a broken heart for her pearl of a girl. Gladly conscious, too, that Daryl’s lips had responded lovingly, almost hungrily to her own kiss. Oh, her dear girl! To think a thing like this had to come to her to mar this Christmas that had meant so much to them all. To think her girl had to be entangled in a heartbreak. Dear God! Peril, peril, peril, everywhere! Storm for her boy out there in the snow on the mountain. And storm for her girl in the quiet home with the Christmas lights burning and the home stage set for joy! Sin in the world and heartbreak and storm! And she had somehow dreamed that her children were to be exceptions to the general rule of life, and would not have to pass such terrible testings!

Then Ruth came and settled down at the piano, touching the keys lightly, playing sweet Christmas music: “Oh, Holy Night,” “Angels of Jesus,” “While shepherds watched their flocks by night.” Ruth claimed she was not much of a player, but the notes seemed fairly to sing the words that night, and presently Daryl came with her violin and stood in the shade of the tree, with her back to the lights, and drew tender strains from her fine old violin. Then Father hummed softly, and Mother murmured a note or two now and then, and watched her girl furtively. What had happened to Daryl? Something more than what she had told, she was sure. It would not be like Daryl to make so much of the mere fact that Harold had not come through all that storm. There was something behind it yet that she did not understand.

But wasn’t it enough that Daryl seemed to be somewhat disillusioned? Did she dare rejoice in that? Fearfully she thought over all Daryl’s vague answers to her questions, and trembled on her border of relief, not daring to hope it would be permanent. Yet why could she not just rest back and trust and leave her child in God’s hands? Why did she have to suffer these ups and downs, these fears and brief reliefs and fears again? “Oh, it must be lack of faith. ‘According to your faith be it unto you.’ Oh, Lord, increase my faith! Lord, give me more faith!”

But if it should be that her girl was to be released unhurt from this unfortunate friendship she had regarded with such dread, what joy it would be.

The clock struck ten, and still they sang on, each one furtively watching the windows, listening through the sighing of the wind for sounds of the two wanderers returning.

When the clock struck eleven Mrs. Devereaux got up with an air of going about something she had planned.

“Where are you going, Mother?” asked Father Devereaux calmly.

“Yes, where are you going, Mother?” they both looked fearfully toward the windows.

“Why, I’m just going out to light my oven,” she said cheerfully, as if she hadn’t a thought otherwise. “I thought it was about time to put in some potatoes to bake. The boys ought to be getting home in a few minutes now, don’t you think?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Father in a slow, leisurely tone, “perhaps it’s a little soon, isn’t it? Won’t it be time enough to put their supper on when they get here? They’ll have to clean up a little, you know.” Although everyone knew perfectly well, having worked it all out in their anxious minds over and over again, that if the boys had made as good time getting down the mountain as they made going up they ought to have been here two good hours ago.