The song, too, she said little of; and Bertram--though he was ashamed to own it to himself--breathed more freely.
The real facts of the case were that Billy had told Arkwright that she should have no time to give attention to the song until after Christmas; and her manner had so plainly shown him that she considered himself synonymous with the song, that he had reluctantly taken the hint and kept away.
"I'll make her care for me sometime--for something besides a song," he told himself with fierce consolation--but Billy did not know this.
Aside from Bertram, Christmas filled all of Billy's thoughts these days.
There were such a lot of things she wished to do.
"But, after all, they're only sugarplums, you know, that I'm giving, dear," she declared to Bertram one day, when he had remonstrated with with her for so taxing her time and strength.

"I can't really do much." "Much!" scoffed Bertram.
"But it isn't much, honestly--compared to what there is to do," argued Billy.

"You see, dear, it's just this," she went on, her bright face sobering a little.

"There are such a lot of people in the world who aren't really poor.

That is, they have bread, and probably meat, to eat, and enough clothes to keep them warm.