CHAPTER XVII.
HIPPY LOOKS MYSTERIOUS "Merry, Merry Christmas everywhere, Cheerily it ringeth through the air," sang Grace Harlowe joyously as she twined a long spray of ground pine about the chandelier in the hall, then stepping down from the stool on which she had been standing, backed off, viewing it critically.
"Oh, but it's good to be home!" she trilled, making a rush for her mother, who had just appeared in the door, and winding both arms tightly about her.
"My own little girl," returned her mother fondly.

"How Father and I have missed you!" "That's my greatest drawback to perfect happiness," sighed Grace, rubbing her soft cheek against her mother's: "Not to be able to be in two places at once.

Now, if you were with me at Overton I wouldn't have a thing left to sigh for.

You don't know how much I miss you, Mother, and Father, too.

Sometimes I grow so homesick that I can't read or study or do anything but just think of you.