Splendid idea of yours, Mary. Boys, it's these
mothers who have the real Christmas things in their hearts."
"Yes, and in the oven, too!" laughed Mrs. Duncan, extracting therefrom a
big pan of deliciously light cake, whose spicy fragrance assailed the
boys' nostrils temptingly. "This," she continued, "is to be eaten here
in the kitchen to-night. It goes with Peter's stories."
"Jolly!" said someone, and the four youthful voices immediately swung
into:
"For mother's a jolly good fellow,
For mother's a jolly good fellow,
For mother's a jolly good fellow,
Which nobody can deny!"
And, joining in the last line, there boomed a fifth voice which sounded
suspiciously like Mr. Duncan's.
* * * * * * * *
A crackling wood fire was roaring up the chimney from the large stove
in the kitchen. On the spotlessly white pine floor were spread soft,
grey lynx skins, one or two raccoon skins with their fluffy, ringed
tails, and a couple of red fox pelts. On these sprawled the four boys
in various and intricate attitudes. In the corner back of the stove
lounged Peter Ottertail, on a single brown buffalo robe.
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