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.
Hallam had found in camp a copy of a Southern newspaper; and, thinking it might amuse the company to read it, produced it.
Ailsa, looking over his shoulder, noticed a poem called "Christmas," printed on the first page.
"Read it aloud," he said, laughing.

"Let's hear what sort of Christmas poetry the Johnnies produce." So, after smilingly scanning the first lines, she began, aloud; but her face had grown very grave, and her low voice thrilled them as she became conscious of the deeper sadness of the verse.
"How grace this Hallowed Day?
Shall happy bells from yonder ancient spire Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire Round which our children play?
"How shall we grace the Day?
With feast and song and dance and homely sport, And shout of happy children in the court, And tales of ghost and fay?
"Is there indeed a door Where the old pastimes with their joyful noise And all the merry round of Christmas joys Can enter as of yore?
"Would not some pallid face Look in upon the banquet, calling up Dread shapes of battle in the Christmas cup, And trouble all the place?
"How can we hear the mirth While some loved reveller of a year ago Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow, In cold Virginia earth--" Her voice suddenly broke; she laughed, slightly hysterical, the tears glittering in her eyes.
"I--c-can't--read it, somehow.

.