“Does anybody in this hospital use bad language?” demanded the doctor sharply.

“Not to us,” said Ailsa, smiling.  “But there’s an army just outside the windows.  Go on with your story, please.”

“Well, then,” said the jolly surgeon, “I was talking with Colonel Riley, when up walks the most honest-looking soldier I think I ever saw; and he gazed straight into the Colonel’s eyes as he saluted.  He wanted a furlough, it appeared, to go to New York and see his dying wife.

“Riley said:  ‘Is she very sick?’

“‘Yes, Colonel.’

“‘You have a letter:  saying she is very sick?’

“‘Yes, Colonel.’

“’Well, I also have a letter from your wife.  I wanted to make certain about all the applications for furlough you have been making, so I wrote her.’

“‘Yes, Colonel.’

“’And she says that she is perfectly well, and does not want you to come home!’

“The soldier smiled.

“‘Did you write a letter to my wife, Colonel?’

“’I did.”

“‘Did my wife write to you?’

“’She did.  And what do you mean by coming here to me with a lie about your sick wife!  Have you anything to say to that?’

“‘Yes, Colonel.’

“‘Then say it!’

“’Well, Colonel, all I have to say is that there are two of the damnedest, biggest liars that ever lived, right here in this regiment!’

“‘What!’

“The soldier grinned.

“‘I’m not married at all,’ he said, ’and I’m the biggest liar—­and you can ask the boys who the damnedest liar is.’”

When the merriment and laughter had subsided, Hallam told another story rather successfully; then Hammond told another.  Then Dr. West returned; the tiny Christmas tree, cut in the forest, and loaded with beribboned cakes and sticks of chocolate and a few presents tied in tissue-paper, was merrily despoiled.

Ailsa and Letty had worked slippers for the two doctors, greatly appreciated by them, apparently; Hallam had some embroidered handkerchiefs from Ailsa, and she received a chain and locket from him—­and refrained from opening the locket, although everybody already had surmised that their engagement was a fact.

Letty sent an orderly for her guitar, and sang very sweetly an old-fashioned song: 

  “When the moonlight
  Shines bright
  Silvery bright on the sea.”

Ailsa sang “Aileen Aroon,” and “Oft in the Stilly Night,” and everybody, later, sang “The Poor Old Soldier.”

The fire glowed red in the chimney; gigantic shadows wavered on wall and ceiling; and, through the Christmas candles dimly burning, the branches of the little evergreen spread, laden with cake and candy.

“They’re to have a tree in every ward to-morrow,” said Ailsa, turning toward Hallam.  Her eyes smiled, but her voice was spiritless.  A tinge of sadness had somehow settled over the festivity; Hammond was staring at the fire, chin in hand; West sipped his wine reflectively; Letty’s idle fingers touched her guitar at intervals, as her dark eyes rested on Ailsa and Hallam.