Finally, after a day of flying about, helping with the many last thing,
Peggy let down her braids and put on her new crimson shirtwaist, and
stood with her mother in the front doorway, for it was Christmas Eve at
last, and the station 'bus was rattling up with the first homecomers,
Arna and Hazen.
Then there were voices ringing up and down the dark street, and there
were happy tears in the mother's eyes, and Arna had taken Peggy's face
in her two soft-gloved hands and lifted it up and kissed it, and Hazen
had swung his little sister up in the air just as of old. Peggy's tired
feet were dancing for joy. She was helping Arna take off her things,
was carrying her bag upstairs--would have carried Hazen's heavy grip,
too, only her father took it from her.
"Set the kettle to boil, Peggy," directed her mother; "then run
upstairs and see if Arna wants anything. We'll wait supper till the
rest come."
The rest came on the nine o'clock train, such a load of them--the big,
bluff brother-in-law, Mabel, plump and laughing, as always, Minna,
elfin and bright-eyed, and sleepy Baby Robin. Such hugging, such a
hubbub of baby talk! How many things there seemed to be to do for those
precious babies right away!
Peggy was here and there and everywhere. Everything was in joyous
confusion. Supper was to be set on, too.
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