The same rose was pinned on her coat, when later in the morning they went to a Christmas service at St.
Boniface, the little stone church in the village, a mile away.

Eugenia had suggested their going.

She said it would be such a picture with the snow on its ivy-covered belfry, and the icicles hanging from the eaves.
Some noted singer was to be in the choir, and would sing several solos.
The walking would be fine through the dry crunching snow, and as they had right of way through all of the neighbouring estates between them and the village, it would be like going through an English park.
Stuart had an urgent round of professional visits to make and could not join them, and at the last moment some message came from the Orphanage in reference to the tree, which kept Eugenia at home to make some alteration in her plans.

So when the time came to start only the four guests set out across the snowy lawn, down the woodland path leading to the village.

They went Indian file at first in order that Phil might make a trail through the snow, until they reached the beaten path.
It was colder than they had expected to find it, and presently Mary dropped back to the rear, so that she might hold her muff up, unobserved, to shield the rose she wore.