frequently on his knees than in his hands. Hunter came back at nine and the two went early to bed, the artist to fall instantly into loud slumber, Miles to lie long with his wide-open eyes fixed on the clear winter sky, in which a big white moon sailed gloriously.
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After breakfast was over in the
morning, the two set about decorating
the house. Piles of evergreen had
been gathered by Hunter's orders, and
now they were dragged inside and
heaped lavishly wherever space allowed.
In the midst of the work
Hunter leaped suddenly from the
chair upon which he had stood precariously
winding evergreen above a
picture, and hurried to the front window.
Then he carelessly went to the
door, opened it, and looked out.
"By Jupiter, Miles, but this is a great morning!" he exclaimed.
