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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Pleasant ... gathering of neighbors?" questioned Mrs. Nourice with some emotion. "Oh, I forgot," deprecated the Master of the House with real concern. "Your Christmas season is not, of course, as inherently 'pleasant' as one might wish.... I was told at the railroad station how you and Mr. Nourice had been called away by the illness of a relative." "We were called away," confided Mrs.
The Gift Beautiful! The Gift Dutiful! The Gift that Didn't Come! Heigho! Manger and Toy-Shop, Miracle and Mirth, "Glisten and Tears, LAUGH at the years!" That's Christmas! Flame Nourice certainly was willing to laugh at the years. Eighteen usually is! Waking at Dawn two single thoughts consumed her, the Lay Reader, and the humpiest of the express packages downstairs.
"Returning quite unexpectedly to my new house this lonely Christmas evening," he explained very definitely to the Rev. Flamande Nourice, "I can't express to you what it means to me to find this pleasant gathering of neighbors waiting here to welcome me! And when I think of the effort you must have made to get here, Mr. Bertrand," he beamed. "A young man of all your obligations and complications "
Flamande Nourice, and Miss Nourice, present their compliments! And are you by any chance short a marrow-bone? Or would you possibly care to borrow an extra quilt to rug-up under the kitchen table?... Blunder-Blot doesn't look very thick. Or Oh Mother, p-l-e-a-s-e!"
After five blustering, wintry weeks of village speculation and gossip there was of course considerable satisfaction in being the first to solve the mysterious holiday tenancy of the Rattle-Pane House. Breathless with excitement Flame Nourice telephoned the news from the village post-office.
Nourice with increasing asperity, "called away at considerable inconvenience by a very sick relative to receive the present of a Piebald pony." "Oh, goody!" quickened Flame and collapsed again under the weight of her Mother's glance. "And then came this terrible telephone message," shuddered her Mother. "The implied dishonor of one of your Father's most trusted most trusted associates!"
"Pray be seated, everybody," he gestured graciously to left and right, shoving one dog expeditiously under the table with his foot, while he yanked another out of a chair with his least gesticulating hand. "This is certainly a very great pleasure, I assure you," he affirmed distinctly to Miss Flamande Nourice.
And moreover she sayd, O Lucius, I have nourished thee with myne owne proper hand: and why not? For I am not onely of kindred to thy mother by blood, but also by nourice, for wee both descended of the line of Plutarch, lay in one belly, sucked the same paps, and were brought up together in one house.
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