He began it himself:
"It's a real sorrow to me, Miss Ruth, to be warned that this party is
nearly over."
"Is it, Mr. Kendrick? It would be to me if to-morrow weren't Christmas
Day. It's worth having this stop to get to that. You see, to-night we
hang up our stockings."
"Good heavens, Miss Ruth--where? Not in front of any one chimney?"
"No, each in our own room, at the foot of the bed. The things that won't
go into the stockings are on the breakfast-table."
"I'll think of you when I'm waking to my solitary dressing. I never hung
up my stocking in my life."
"You haven't!" Ruth's tone was all dismay. "But you must have had heaps
of Christmas presents?"
"Oh, yes, I've a friend or two who present me with all sorts of
interesting articles I seldom find a use for. And when I was a little
chap I remember they always had a tree for me."
"I don't care much for trees," Ruth confided. "I like them better in
shop windows than I do at home. But to hang up your stocking and then
find it all stuffed and knobby in the morning, with always something
perfectly delightful in the toe for the very last! Oh, I love it!"
"I wish I were a cousin of yours, so I could look after that toe present
myself," said Richard daringly.
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