As if she felt that he had addressed his remarks to her, she answered, “The fr—the guest who was to have occupied that room didn’t come!” She managed a gracious smile to cover the bleakness in her statement, and suddenly Alan remembered the telephone conversation he had heard just outside his door while he was dressing for the expedition in the storm. And all at once he longed to comfort her.

“And may I be a substitute guest?” he asked. “At least until the other man can get here? He’ll be coming later, I imagine.”

“No,” said Daryl quite decidedly, “he won’t be coming later.” She shut her lips thinly again. “At least, if he does, he won’t be staying,” she added with finality, and Alan found himself strangely glad that she felt that way.

But Lance looked up in surprise.

“What’s that, Daryl, Harold not coming? That’s hard lines. The storm keep him back?” His voice was very polite, but they all remembered that Lance had just got in from a six-hour battle with the storm, on foot, while Harold had a car and reasonably good highways all the way.

“No,” said Daryl quite calmly, as if she were facing the truth and did not wish to hide it, “he went somewhere else!”

The mother looked up.

“Why don’t you explain, dear, that his employer had a gathering at which he expected his presence?” she said apologetically.

Daryl opened her lips to speak and then closed them tightly. Alan could see that she did not want to talk about it.

“Well then,” he said cheerfully, “if you’re willing to accept me as a substitute guest, I’ll be happy to endeavor to fill the assignment, but I still suggest you let me sleep on the couch and not make extra trouble for you.”

“Man, don’t you know this house has rooms upon rooms, and they’re always in a perpetual state of being ready for guests? My mother just loves company. Don’t get difficult. That room you dressed in is yours as long as you’ll stay. Am I right or not, folks?”

“You’re right of course, son,” said Father Devereaux. “You’ll find all your things from your car there, Mr. Monteith. I took the liberty of getting Bill Gates to tow your car into the village for repairs, and we brought your suitcases and packages in so you wouldn’t have to go out in the storm to get them when you got back.”

“Say, you’re kind,” said Alan Monteith, greatly touched. “It’s like having a father again and being taken care of. I’d almost forgotten how that felt!”

“I hope you’ll let us recall it to you often after this,” said the old man genially.

“Well, I certainly would like to,” said Alan heartily.

“Okay, that being settled, let’s go!” said Lance. “Where are the stockings? Let’s get to the next act, or I’ll fall asleep again.”

Lance limped over to the living room with Ruth, his hand resting on Ruth’s shoulder, and her eyes were shining and happy as she looked up to him. Alan watched them a second, caught the stricken look on Daryl’s face, and drew himself up from the chair, hurrying stiffly over to her side.

“Say, what is this stocking business? You’ll have to induct me into its principles. I haven’t hung my stocking up since I was a little kid and Mother helped me pin it on the wall over the register, which was the only chimney we had in the apartment where we lived.”

Daryl flashed a sympathetic look at him and welcomed his company with a smile.

“Here’s your stocking,” she said, affecting a cheerfulness he knew she did not feel, for he saw the purple depths in her big, troubled blue eyes.

He took the long brightly striped stocking.

“My stocking?” he said, pretending to study it. “I don’t just seem to remember it. Was that ever my stocking?”

“No, but it is now,” Daryl said with a laugh. “See, it’s marked ‘Pilgrim and Stranger Man,’” she said, pointing to a marker fastened to its top with a safety pin. “We couldn’t remember what you said your name was so we called you ‘Pilgrim and Stranger.’”

“Yes, but that doesn’t fit anymore,” said Alan gravely. “I’m no longer a pilgrim or a stranger. We’ll have to change that. I’ve been sort of adopted into the family, but I guess it’s a little soon to presume upon that. Suppose we make it ‘The Substitute Guest’? How will that do? Do you mind?” He looked up suddenly, keenly, his fountain pen out ready to write, and studied her eyes. Lovely eyes. He never had seen such eyes.

“Mind?” said Daryl. “Why, that’s lovely. Of course not.”

His eyes lingered on hers. For an instant.