Every afternoon of the week that followed found Jules hurrying over to
Madame Greville's to help with the Christmas preparations. He strung
yards of corn, and measured out the nuts and candy for each of the gay
bags. Twice he went in the carriage to Tours with Cousin Kate and Joyce,
to help buy presents for the thirty little guests. He was jostled by the
holiday shoppers in crowded aisles. He stood enraptured in front of
wonderful show windows, and he had the joy of choosing fifteen things
from piles of bright tin trumpets, drums, jumping-jacks, and
picture-books. Joyce chose the presents for the girls.
The tree was bought and set up in a large unused room back of the
library, and as soon as each article was in readiness it was carried in
and laid on a table beside it. Jules used to steal in sometimes and look
at the tapers, the beautiful colored glass balls, the gilt stars and
glittering tinsel, and wonder how the stately cedar would look in all
that array of loveliness. Everything belonging to it seemed sacred, even
the unused scraps of bright tarletan and the bits of broken candles. He
would not let Marie sweep them up to be burned, but gathered them
carefully into a box and carried them home. There were several things
that he had rescued from her broom,--one of those beautiful red balls,
cracked on one side it is true, but gleaming like a mammoth red cherry
on the other.
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