And Nan, his sweetheart, had not even a Christmas card.
Cynthia's son went to the telephone but even as he raised the receiver
he somehow guessed what the answer would be.
Nan's father answered.
"Why, John, she left on that 1:10 for Scranton, Pennsylvania. It's the
first fool thing I have ever known her to do. Stayed right here till
she'd given us our Christmas gifts and dinner and then off she went to
see this old aunt in Scranton. Why, yes--you can send a telegram.
She'll get it when she arrives."
So it happened that when a tired, homesick, wretched girl reached her
aunt's house in Scranton, Pennsylvania, she found the one gift for
which her heart had cried all that long, long Christmas day. It was
just a bit of yellow paper that said:
"oh gray day girl don't stay too long the
fire is singing your chair is waiting and I have
so much to tell you come home and forgive."
CHAPTER XXI
FANNY'S HOUR
Nobody had asked Fanny to be a member of the Civic League but she was
its most energetic promoter, its most zealous advocate. Never had she
had such a cold weather opportunity.
Fanny hated cold weather. It shut people up in houses, shut their
mouths, their purses, their laughter. It made life grim and rather
gray.
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