It did not avail, however.

The old man was too deeply wedded to his home.
"I should be miserable in New York," he replied to their earnest entreaties; "and it would not add to your happiness to see me going about with a sober, discontented face, or to be reminded every little while that if you had left me to my winter's hibernation I would have been a contented instead of a dissatisfied old man.

No, no, my children; Ivy Cliff is the best place for me.

You shall come up and spend Christmas here, and we will have a gay season." There was no further use in argument.

Mr.Delancy would have his way; and he was right.
Irene and her husband went back to the city, with a promise to spend Christmas at the old homestead.
Two weeks passed.