Chapter VI: Part 6

"I'm awfully strong, though," he protested anxiously. "Yesterday I whined to the doctor because I can't do things same as I used to, yet, and he said, 'If you weren't as strong as a horse, you'd have been dead twice over by now!' He's got Irish blood in his veins, I fancy!"

She smiled absently.

"Why aren't you down in the country?"

"I did go for a while, but you see--well, I'm going up to Cambridge as soon as Dr. Murray will let me, and I don't want to get too far behind. So I'm attending classes and that sort of thing--as much as I'm allowed," with a rueful smile.

"I think," said Nell, in her charming, softest voice, "you're just a hero!"

"A--a _what_? Good Heavens, what have I done? What have I been saying?"

She turned suddenly, unheeding his ludicrous dismay, and stretching across, opened a little drawer in the table. She took out a bundle of photographs and handed him one.

"That's Acushla!" she said with a queer little breathless note in her voice. "I had to sell her."

He glanced at her swiftly, and looked down at the photograph. Nell was making amends. In her rush of disgust at all the unkind things she had thought of him, in the pity that made her heart ache, she instinctively took him close as a friend.

"That is the Colleen Bawn. She belonged to all of us. Dad bought her for fourteen pounds of an awful old pedler! She looked dreadful; you could count all her ribs--and dirty--and her tail! Well, it isn't very grand there, but I don't believe it had more than fourteen hairs in it when dad bought her--pound a hair, we always said. She was lame, and had a great bare patch on her right shoulder. But we fattened her up, and groomed her, and you wouldn't believe how she could go! And jump! She'd jump anything, if she saw anything in front of her. That was her fad. She couldn't stand anyone's getting in front of her. She's taken me clear over a wall that even Denis's best hunter can't manage without knocking down a stone or two. She's rather big and bony, but there's something rather fine about her head, I think."

He nodded.

"That's a jolly colt!"

"He is Sheila Pat's. We haven't sold him. We dared not. I believe it would have made her ill--really ill, I mean. The parting nearly did, in any case."

She showed him all the photographs--even the dim ones that needed to be looked at very closely, when, with time and patience, a horse, perhaps several horses, mostly jumping or galloping, and riders would slowly disentangle themselves from the surrounding gloom.

"I confess that our climate isn't an ideal one for taking photographs!" she laughed. "Most of those were taken in the rain or a mist." She rose. "I want to show you something else."

She fetched a little oil painting of Acushla.

"By Jove!" he said, and studied it in silence.

"Mr. O'Neil--my master--says it's the best thing I've ever done."

"It's splendid! She's a beauty! Just look at her legs--and the colour. What a glorious little beast she is! I don't know when I've seen a more beautiful head and shape."

"Mr. O'Neil came upon me just when I'd done that, and he burst out, 'Good! Good! Good!' He doesn't believe in praise, you know, and directly he'd said that he pulled himself up. 'But might be better!' he said, and he glared into my face, and groaned out: 'I believe you're pleased with it! I wash my hands of you! You'll never be a painter! Go away! You should be weeping that you can't do better!' It took all my eloquence to convince him that I didn't think it was good, only better work than I had been doing. But I made him laugh, by representing how pleased he'd be if he always came upon me sitting weeping into my pinny, and then he cheered up, and slanged my poor little painting with tremendous energy!"

"Beast!"

"He's a dear old man, but he has a theory that complacency is the curse of art. He declares that talent is choked by it, and so never rises. You should always be dissatisfied with your work--always feel you _must_ do better, or die in the attempt. Now, if I were to listen to your praise, it would do me incalculable harm, according to him."

He smiled whimsically.

"I don't think even he'd mind my praise!"

"I don't agree with him," she pursued thoughtfully, "unless, of course, a person is naturally conceited and complacent, and then I don't think it matters one way or the other; the person will remain complacent anyway. But I think a little praise cheers one up! I'm just delighted you think that good!"

"It's more than good," earnestly.

"Oh, if he could hear you! And me!"

She stooped to pick up from the floor a sheet of foreign note-paper scrawled over with large uneven writing.

"Sheila Pat," she said, "to-morrow's mail day. We write an awful lot. But we can't get any letters from them yet."

She took the photographs from him and put them away in the drawer.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She turned to him with a little laugh, and held out her hand.

"I've been awfully mean--had mean thoughts about you--been rude to you." Her words tumbled out in a soft little jumble. "I'm sorry."

He grasped her hand.

"Not you--I say--" he stammered.

"I'm going to call you Ted, and you may call me Nell. I feel as if I've known you for ages, and the other's so stiff, and we'll be friends 'till the sun has burnt itself down to the bigness of a farthing rushlight,' shall we?"

"Er--yes--"

She teased him, her dimples dancing.

"Say, 'Yes, Nell!'"

"Yes, N-N-_Nell_!"

*CHAPTER XVIII*

Christmas was drawing very near. The stock of stuffed animals was growing large; toys overflowed the Stronghold. A pillow-case, purloined from the bed in the spare room, did duty as a bag to hold some of them. In a spasm of artistic joy Nell had painted a rough sketch of a hunting scene on it, and they lived in terror that Miss Kezia would see it.

The doll's house was furnished throughout; in the bedroom two little dolls in white night-dresses lay in bed. In the dining room three sat at the table. They had intended to dress two more for the nursery, but Nell, having put in the last stitch on the fifth doll, flung it down on to the table, jumped up: "Denis, come dance with me! Not another hateful little doll will I touch! They drive me crazy! Little, fiddley things! I'm doing enough sewing lately to canonise me as Saint Eileen of the needle!"

They waltzed out on to the landing and down the stairs, improvising fancy steps to a tune Denis carolled out as they went. Into the kitchen they came, round the table they danced, while Sarah gaped.

"Bet I can do an Irish jig on the garden wall!" declared Denis suddenly.

"So can I!"

It was in the height of the jig that Miss Kezia and a friend who was paying her an afternoon call looked forth into the garden. All along, back windows were up, and heads looking out. For Denis had a beautiful voice and he sang as he danced--rather spasmodically, as one foot and then the other landed on space instead of the wall, but very heartily.

Miss Kezia's friend was a somewhat prim and stiff-necked matron, and she was a good deal scandalised. Miss Kezia was considerably annoyed; but before she could open the window, the jig stopped abruptly, Denis leapt from the wall and after him Nell, and both started in chase of a small figure which had come out into the garden and defied them to catch it.

Mysterious shopping expeditions took place about this time. The Atom, not allowed to go out alone, chose Sarah as her escort while she purchased Christmas presents. Miss Kezia unexpectedly gave her sanction to the arrangement. A queer sort of mutual recognition of worth had grown up between the Atom and Miss Kezia. Sheila Pat discussed her gravely with Nell.

"I do think she's worthy, Nell. Sarah says she is, and she says she wouldn't leave here because you never know what you might get. She's very _just_, you see. Some mistresses are awful; they blame you for things like the taps leakin' and the chimney smokin', when they're cross. Aunt Kezia never does. I think she's rather nice to talk to sometimes," thoughtfully, "and she's very honest--she told me she was always quite ugly, and she's got some beautiful animals all worked in silk that her mother did when she was quite young, and you see, she can't help bein' borned Scotch!"

On her part Miss Kezia went so far as, "I do not understand Sheila, but there is a solid layer of goodness beneath her eccentricities." The truth was, Miss Kezia, angry, bewildered, worried, as she so often was in these days, nevertheless found an unexpected partiality developing within her for the young O'Briens,--an unexpected recognition of their charm.

What with finishing presents, buying them, packing up the hospital toys, and fighting various little imps who whispered things about this time last year, they found those days before Christmas pretty full.

One evening some carollers came and sang lustily in the road outside the house. As they began, the front door was opened and Miss Kezia's grim voice bade them begone. But upstairs there was a wild scamper to a bedroom window--it was flung up--and pennies came hurtling through the air--"Go on! Please, go on!" and voices at the window joined lustily in. For the song the carollers sang was "Rory O'More."

"Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn,
He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn;
He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.
'Now, Rory, be aisy,' sweet Kathleen would cry,
Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye,
'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about;
Faith, you've teaz'd till I've put on my cloak inside out.'
'Oh, jewel!' says Rory, 'that same is the way
You've thrated my heart for this many a day,
And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?
For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More."

The voices at the window started the next verse:--

"'Indeed, then,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the like,
For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;
The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound.'
'Faith,' says Rory, 'I'd rather love you than the ground.'
'Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go;
Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!'
'Oh!' says Rory, 'that same I'm delighted to hear,
For dhrames always go by contraries, my dear.'
'Now, Rory, leave off, sir. You'll hug me no more;
That's eight times to-day, that you've kissed me before.'
'Then here goes another,' says he, 'to make sure,
For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'More."

As the last words rang out Nell flung down a sixpence.

"A Merry Christmas!"

"Shure and 'tis afther the same I'd be wishing you entirely, at all, at all!" came the sonorous response. "Shure and 'tis the Oirish are afther being the gradely folks on this earrth, me beautiful honour, your leddyship!"

"You're not Irish!" shrilled out an indignant little voice.

"Och, begorra, and would yez be insulting us now, at all, at all, your honour? Shure 'tis the Oirish we are, thin, and long may they live, hoots toots! Ochone!"

Nell flung down a piece of holly she was wearing in her waist belt; she flung it waveringly, overcome with mirth.

Denis shouted aloud. Of all of them the Atom alone refused to even smile.

"I object to hypocrites," she said dignifiedly.

"I wonder how they found out we are Irish?" pondered Molly.

"I suppose it was just an odd coincidence--their singing 'Rory O'More,' and then they found out by our brogues!" laughed Nell.

It was that same evening that, fired by "Rory O'More," they left their toys and trooped down to the cold drawing-room and sang and played. Sheila Pat, leaving the room for something, found Herr Schmidt on the mat outside the door, listening.

"I lof ze music so much!" he excused himself hurriedly. "It was so beautiful--the lovely voices--full of music! You will pardon me, Fraeulein?"

Sheila Pat bowed.

"With the greatest pleasure. Please come in."

Later on he begged them to use his piano any time they wished.

"We _must_ finish packing the hospital toys to-night!" said Nell, and sped up the stairs.

A few minutes later Ted came in.

"How are you, N-N-Nell?"

"Quite well, thank you, T-T-Ted."

"Sheila Pat," tweaking her pig-tail, "don't they grow straight pig-tails in Ireland?"

"Please don't be foolish," said Sheila Pat, ramming a fur rabbit into the box.

He looked at Nell and raised his eyebrows.

"Sheila Pat's cross still, aren't you, Atom?" Nell said.

"I'm innoyed."

"Tell me about it," he begged.

Denis glanced up from a letter he was writing, then bent his head again.

"Two wicked hypocrites came and they told stories, too. He said he was Irish! _Irish_, was it? Sure 'twas sooner goriller-monkeys they'd be! They sang outside, and we gave them some money. Did they think we were unborned babies that they'd be sayin' they were Irish?"

"What a double-dyed villain!" Ted said with grave disapproval.

"I'd knew _you_ wouldn't be laughin' and thinkin' it funny." She paused to watch Nell.

Nell was coming straight at Ted; once in front of him, she pointed a tragic forefinger first at a sixpence that dangled on his watch-chain, and then at a spray of holly in his button-hole.

He gazed back at her amusedly.

"Sheila Pat! Molly! Out on him! Oh, the thraitor! The wicked thraitor! Don't you see? It was Ted--_Ted Lancaster_! Behold, the holly! Behold, my ill-gotten sixpence! Mine own familiar friend! What shall we do to him? Girls, what shall we do to him?"

Sheila Pat, her face scarlet, ran at him, and tried futilely to shake him. He seized her and swung her aloft. From her lofty perch she scornfully attacked him. "Sure I would have thought you'd be spakin' it better than that! _How_ old are you? O dear, what great boobies these English boys are! Hoots toots, indeed! And who was the other monkey-kangaroo, then?"

"Little Foster. You don't know him. Thought it looked better to have two, and, you see, I was too shy to sing all alone! Aren't you going to forgive me, acushlums? Och, begorra, I've been learning that 'Rory O'More' a whole week all for your benefit!"

"Nell,"--he began presently.

"Bravo, Ted!" she interpolated.

He flushed and laughed.

"Well, Nell," he resumed, "how did you find out so quickly?"

"That gossoon," nodding at Denis. "I saw by his face. He never can keep anything in. And to think he _knew_! And let me waste my substance on a wicked fraud of a Ted!"

"I recognised him almost at once," observed Denis.

Nell's eye had grown suddenly absent, preoccupied with thoughts of something else. She rose and sidled, with what she thought deep artfulness, but which a child could have seen through, toward the artistic pillow-case. She had caught sight of the deep emerald green silk tie she was knitting for Ted sticking up in full view, gazing brazenly at Ted himself, she declared.

Fortunately he was engaged just then with the Atom, so saw nothing of Nell's transparent manoeuvring.

"Sure the very babies themselves," said Sheila Pat, earnestly, "speak it better than that!"

"Do they, Sheila Pat? How clever the Irish must be!"

"Of course they are," said Sheila Pat.

*CHAPTER XIX*

Christmas came with a rush in the end.

"Santa Claus," said Nell, "has not a well-regulated mind. For the weeks before Christmas he rides at a leisurely trot, looking about him, smiling. Then suddenly he finds there isn't time for half he's got to do, and off he gallops--over hedges of toys--ditches of sweets--up hills of mince pies and puddings--sends us all scattering here and there on his errands--I wonder why he always muddles it like that?"

"Perhaps the old chap's Irish," suggested Ted.

Christmas eve found her with the painting of Kate Kearney for Sarah not finished; with Ted's tie in the same condition; with Denis's present still unbought; with half Molly's not got yet, and innumerable little bits and things to do. The others were in much the same case.

But all the hospital toys had been sent off, and Mrs. Jones presented with the doll's house and other presents for Benny and Janie and Susan. On that last day Sheila Pat went out with Sarah. (Never had Sarah enjoyed herself so much as on these shopping expeditions, during which sometimes a smug-faced young man of an infinite respectability met them, nearly overcome with surprise at the strange coincidence of his being just there while they were just there, too.)--Sheila Pat went out with Sarah and bought Ted's present. She came home, fairly glowing and clasping a small parcel tight in both hands.

"Oh, Nell!" she said.

Nell bundled something under her pinafore and tried to look innocent.

"What is it, Atom?"

"I've got a present for Ted--I've been lookin' and lookin'--oh, Nell!"

"Show it me."

The Atom was unwrapping the paper. Beneath was a little cardboard box; in it lay a vividly green painted shamrock with a large diamond in the centre. It represented a tie pin, and had cost a shilling and a halfpenny.

For Stewart she bought two large cabbages. "Won't Peter have a lovely Christmas dinner?" she queried ecstatically. "And he'll be so sad, you see, with Tommy and his mother away a whole week!"

That afternoon Nell and Molly came suddenly face to face in a draper's shop, and exactly as they did it, up came the bland shop-walker to know what they wanted. He stared with dignified disapproval, as they stood there and laughed and laughed. Nell wanted a charming little useless fancy box for Molly that she had seen in the window, and Molly wanted a little handkerchief for Nell.

"I--er--oh!" Nell laughed ridiculously and Molly turned, giggling, and fled from the shop.

Nell made a valiant effort, "I want a little bancy fox--oh!" and she fled after Molly.

Outside she stood and laughed helplessly. A little way farther up the street she could see Molly, and the knowledge that she too was trying to overcome her giggles made matters much worse.

Neither she nor Molly alluded to that meeting till after Christmas. There was a very strict O'Brien etiquette on such matters.

On that Christmas Eve they gave pennies away recklessly to poor children. They treated a whole family--mother two little girls, a little boy, and a baby, all eminently clean, but hungry-faced--to a hearty tea at a confectioner's, and presented them with a bunch of holly, and a shilling over and beyond the tea. They bought an old man with crutches half a pound of his favourite tobacco, because he was gazing longingly at it in a tobacconist's window. His poor old eyes grew very watery as he accepted it and declared with shaky fervour that "King Edward himself couldn't have given him anything he'd like better."

The account-book was thrust to the back of a drawer, and to the back of everyone's mind as well. They locked themselves mysteriously into their bedrooms; and there was a sudden dearth of paper and string. The whole day was rush and hurry and bustle and fun.

In the evening Nell put her last stitch into Ted's tie.

"'Tis done! 'Tis done! Denis, go forth! Bring thy friend to our hospitable portals and bid him enter. Guide him to this our Stronghold, and leave him with us. Retire thyself to thy bedroom, where, secreted beneath thy bed, thou shalt find a fair fat stocking, once a foot-ball stocking that clad thine own unworthy leg. Take it to thy manly bosom, creep down the stairs, and hie thee to the house of that same Ted Lancaster, our very good friend. Crave speech with the stately butler--"

"Halt! Is thy servant without his proper complement of brains that thou giv'st him his directions twice over? Or is it as thy servant with humility suspects, merely to give exercise to the pendulum within thy coral lips?"

"Oh, hurry up!" Molly expostulated. "It's getting late!"

"I go to fetch the British Ted!" Denis vanished.

They found paper and pen, and Nell wrote, "Not to be looked into till the morning;" then they began to collect their various presents to Ted, and poke them well down in a foot-ball stocking of Denis's.

"Now for the trimmings!" said Nell. "The rattle--in you go! Farthing dolly. Packet of my toffee. Six little pink jube-jube mice. ABC bricks. India-rubber tailless donkey. _Is_ that all?"

"Pin a piece of holly on to it, Nell," adjured the Atom.

"I can't find room for the donkey. Out you come, box of bricks--oh!"

Her gasp was echoed by two other voices. K.K. pattered across to the door, wagging her tail. There was a burst of smothered laughter; they all knew that rap on the door. Then Nell reached out impulsively and turned out the lamp. "Come in!"

Ted Lancaster stumbled into the room, which was lit only by the glow of a very small fire.

"Oh!" he ejaculated. "Am I in the way?"

A wild giggle from Molly. An ecstatic thrill in the Atom's voice as she responded, "Sure you're always welcome, my boy!"

"That's my acushlum, _I_ know! Any mistletoe about?"

"It's nice to sit in the dark sometimes, don't you think?" Nell suggested.

"Oh--ah--yes. Are you telling stories?"

At that Nell grew helpless; she couldn't keep her gravity any longer.

"Oh, Ted--I feel so silly--I can't help it--"

"I love to hear you," he replied with funny earnestness.

"Do sit down," she said. "Oh, not there--that chair is--"

He sat on the edge of the table, which was worse.

"Oh," said Nell, "the table's rather crowded--"

"Sorry!" Down he sat on another chair, and there was a fresh giggle from poor Molly, who was really suffering a good deal.

"Won't you come nearer the fire?" Nell suggested desperately.

"No, thanks, I'm warm. It's a beastly night--all slush and wet."

The door was pushed open.

"I say, can't find him anywhere! What on earth shall we do if we can't get--"

"Ted's here, Denis!"

Three frantic voices gave him the information at the same moment.

"Oh, by Jove, is he? Why on earth are you sitting in the dark, eh?"

Nell could hear the laugh in his voice.

"It--it's nice, sometimes."

He punched Ted on the back. "Beg pardon--thought you were the easel, old chap!"

Ted punched back. "Awfully sorry--thought you were the sofa cushion!"

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Denis, with overdone dismay. "Won't be a minute--forgot--" and he strode from the room.

Nell sat down suddenly, and hid her face in her hands. She knew quite well that Denis was now crawling about under his bed in search of the stocking.

Presently he reappeared, and worked his way round to her. Ted was urging a political argument with the Atom. Under cover of it Denis began.

"Beastly stocking isn't there!"

"If it were, why would the lamp be out, you goose?"

"Never thought of that!" He gave a chuckle.

"It's under the table! It's not packed properly yet. Get Ted up to your room. I'll put it in mine."

"Right you are."

"I say, what on earth am I kicking under here?" came from Ted suddenly. "Ugh, it feels like a corpulent corpse." He stooped to peer under the table. Molly cried out; he dropped the cloth and turned round.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"I say, old man," Denis flung his arm round his shoulders and dragged him towards the door, "you might come up now and look at that book of Heller's I was telling you about. It's in my room."

"All right, but I've a conviction it's Herr Schmidt under that table!"

When they returned to the Stronghold all was light and innocent and calm. Denis made some excuse and went away.

Nell glanced several times at Ted. She guessed he had been doing too much; his face was pale and there were dark rings round his eyes. All the mother in her surged up; she smiled whimsically as she wondered if he would be astonished if she were to go and stroke his head, as she felt inclined to do. She went and sat on the rug by the fire and looked at him softly.

"Ted," she said, "I wish you were going to spend to-morrow with us."

"Do you really?" He looked tremendously pleased.

She nodded. "You'll spend New Year's day with us, won't you?"

"Rather. But the Governor and I always spend Christmas with my aunt. They have a large house party every year."

"It'll be more fun for you than here."

"Will it?"

She pulled Kate Kearney on to her lap, and stroked her long ears thoughtfully.

"When did your mother die, Teddie?"

"When I was four."

"Do you remember her?"

"A little. I can remember hiding behind a curtain and watching, with all my head stuck out, a lady all in pale yellow hunting in the vases and under the table for me. Other bits I can remember, too. And I remember screaming and howling because I didn't like the black frock they put me into."

She gazed into the fire in silence. Then impulsively she stretched out her arm and laid her hand on his knee.

"Teddie, will you promise me to go to bed at ten to-night?"

"At ten?" He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes. _Please_," she coaxed.

"But why?"

"If I tell you, you'll get grumpy."

"No, I won't."

"Well, then, you're done up."

He frowned impatiently.

"I'm not!"

"There, I knew you'd get grumpy!" she replied pathetically; "boys are so prickly."

He smiled. "I'll promise, Nell."

She dimpled joyfully.

"That's a good boy!"

"Nell," wailed Molly, "this trumpet for the milkman's little boy has gone wrong! It won't make a sound."

"Let me try," said Ted.

Denis reappeared with winks and nods. "Let's have a concert," he suggested. "Where's the milkman's drum?"

They mustered between them the trumpet (which wheezed a good deal, but did squeaks as well), the drum, and a mouth organ. Nell and Denis procured combs, put paper over them, and led the concert.

Ted sat through it bravely, even contributing squeaks and wheezes from the trumpet; but Denis gave a yell suddenly.

"I forgot he was real musical--a composer and all sorts of things!"

"Stow that!" Ted came at him, blaring the trumpet.

When he had gone Nell began at once:--

"Did you hang the stocking up, Denis?"

"I did."

"I hope you put it so that the paper showed?" said Molly.

"I did."

"I hope you told that butler to tell everyone not to touch it?" said Sheila Pat.

"For the third time--_I did_!"

"What are you laughin' at?" the Atom demanded.

"I bought something for Aunt Kezia this evening."

"Oh, Denis, you know her strong objection to Christmas presents!" exclaimed Nell.

"She thinks we're wild savages because we hang out our stockin's," observed Sheila Pat. "She said she thought no one older than three years did it."

Denis had gone across to his overcoat, and was rummaging in a pocket.

"Behold!"

He held forth a long white canvas stocking filled with little infantile toys and sweets.

"Oh, Denis!"

Nell and the Atom were gleeful; Molly's glee was tempered.

"She'll be awfully cross!"

"I'm going to write that it's from Santa Claus with compliments and respect, and then I'm going to hang it on her bed."

At about half-past ten they prepared to go to bed. The "this-time-last-year" imps were rather busy, but found themselves combated fiercely.

Nell hugged Sheila Pat a little harder than usual.

"Good night, asthore."

"I like you in your nightie, Nell," the Atom said.

Nell put out the candle and got into bed. She lay very still, straining her ears in the dark; but Sheila Pat made no movement. Dimpling with glee, Nell at last slipped out of bed, slid her feet into her bedroom slippers, flung on her dressing-gown, and took various parcels from beneath her bedclothes. Then she felt her way, pausing to listen, scarcely breathing, across to the Atom's bed. Reaching out for the stocking she knew would be hanging there, she seized a foot. She held a parcel up tight against her mouth to keep her laughter in. The foot had not moved. Nell felt an admiration for the Atom's self-control. She was quite sure she would have called out if someone from out the darkness had suddenly caught hold of her foot. She found the stocking and bundled in her parcels; then she crept across to the door, went out on to the landing and straight into Denis's arms.

"Bother these balusters!" ejaculated he. "One can't walk comfortably in one's sleep for the beastly things!"

She fled recklessly through the dark back to her bed. She had left the door ajar. She lay waiting, determined to try again presently. It was very still; her eyes tried to pierce the darkness. Suddenly something seized the sleeve of her night-gown; she gave a scream.

"Oh," giggled Molly's voice, "I thought it was a stoc--" The giggles fled from the room.

Nell thought how the Atom must be despising her. She determined that, happen what would, she would, next time, make no sound. But when the next minute something lit, with a thud, on her chest, she called out involuntarily. A warm little tongue licked her cheek. "Oh, K.K.! You've given me palpitations of the heart! And you know you're not allowed on beds!" she whispered.

She gave her a kiss and lifted her down to the floor. Then she slipped off the bed, gathered up her parcels once more, and made another attempt, K.K. trotting delightedly at her heels. She got a little way along the passage and was suddenly confronted by Molly, outlined dimly against a window.

"Oh!" gasped Molly, and stumbled noisily back into her room.

Nell drew herself up flat against the wall and waited. Presently something brushed past her knees. She knew it was not K.K.; it was too tall. She gave a little shiver, then stooped and softly put down her hand; it fell on a tight little pig-tail, and Nell drew back with a smothered laugh. So the Atom was crawling about her business! Presently there echoed a frenzied scream from Molly's room; then wild excuses.

"I don't care! You shouldn't crawl! You nearly scared me to death! K.K.'s nearly killed me once already! Why don't you speak, Sheila Pat? I _know_ it's you--I felt you! Oh, you little _beast--why_ won't you speak? _Do_ just say it _is_ you, Atom! _Do_!"

Kate Kearney barked suddenly; a door opened downstairs. Miss Kezia demanded what was the matter. From overhead came Sarah's quivering voice, declaring that she had a poker and they'd better look out. Then Denis's voice soothingly: "It's all right, Aunt Kezia! Christmas time, you know--excitement--nightmare--so sorry you were disturbed. Good night."

In Molly's room there was sudden silence. Nell had not moved. Presently she crept along by the wall and went in. Just as she found the stocking Molly's voice quavered out: "I know someone's in here! I never minded at home--but--but it's different here--who is it?"

To Nell's utter surprise a voice just behind her answered and made her jump.

"I am Santa Claus!" it said, deep and low. "What you felt was the breeze my beard made as I flew past your bed. Do not be afraid, maiden; I am the friend of all, and more especially am I the friend of the Irish people! Now close thine eyes, and sleep till morning! Fare thee well!"

Nell heard the sort of relieved, happy little chuckle Molly gave. Then she slipped out on to the landing, expecting every moment to bump into Denis, and upstairs to his room. The door was open; she crept in, turned to the left, and stretched out her hand. It encountered only space; she moved forward, hand outstretched, till suddenly it hit against the wall. She stood still, bewildered. Where was the bed?

"Turn round three times
To clear a Paddy's brain!
Once more to make sure
And now for luck again!"

"Five times is beyond me--in the dark. _I_ know! That horrid Denis has moved his bed!" She groped round the room till she found it; she put her last parcels into his stocking and prepared to go back to her own room. On her landing, just in front of the window, she came face to face with a big and shadowy Denis.

"Ah," he said, "I thought I heard you moving. I've just been to your room to see if you wanted anything. I was afraid you might be ill."

"How queer! That's just what I heard and thought about you!"

"Very queer!"

"Yes, isn't it?"

"Such coincidences do occur in the best-regulated families. You're sure you _are_ all right?"

"Quite, thank you. And you?"

"Oh, quite. Good night."

"Good night."

They passed each other; he looked back over his shoulder. Nell had stopped. He turned, went back, swung her up into his strong arms.

"I'll carry you back to your bed, young lady, and lock the door on you!" He took her and plumped her down on to her bed. He bent and rubbed his cheek against hers. "Strange we should both be walking in our sleep to-night, old girl!"

"Very strange--_duckie_!"

"Nell! I won't be called names. Atom asleep?"

"I think so."

Soon after he had gone the door was opened with a laborious care and creakiness that proclaimed Molly. Nell smothered a laugh. "Of course! Forgotten something."

She could hear her creeping round the room; she heard K.K.'s tail go thump, thump on the floor; then there was a pause--then thud! Something fell on the carpet--thud! thud!

"Oh!" came a breathless gasp--thud--thud--thud!

"She's knocked my stocking down!" Nell shook with laughter.

Thud! Scrape--bang--she could hear Molly crawling about the floor picking up various parcels. Finally Nell was shaken up and down while Molly adjusted the stocking once more. Then she crept away. Just as she reached the door she blundered into a chair, and sent something crashing to the floor.

From Sheila Pat's bed came an irrepressible, long-suffering, "Sure I _knew_ she'd do that!"

*CHAPTER XX*

"So this is the best they can give us for Christmas in London!" observed the Atom, gazing frowningly out upon a yellow fog.

"Get dressed and give poor old London a rest, Atom! We shall end by being late."

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!"

In came a beaming Sarah, carrying a tray laden with parcels.

"Oh, miss! Oh, miss Shelerpat!--Same to you and many on 'em--I'm sure the picture's lovely--it just might be the dog 'imself--and the scarf too--I shall wear it on my Sunday out, and I'm sure it's very kind of you young ladies--thank you, miss--and mistress told me to bring these round to your rooms--" So Sarah, in a breathless rush of excitement. "Two for you, miss, and two for you!"

"Well!" ejaculated Nell. "To think that Aunt Kezia--" She stopped abruptly, with a little catch in her breath. She had caught sight of the writing on the parcels; one was her mother's and the other her father's. There was a long letter from each as well as the Christmas present. Nell smiled as she read her father's plaint: "We wanted to leave directions with your aunt to put these little presents into the various stockings she would be sure to find waiting if she were to look. But you see, mavourneen, she wouldn't look! And I'm rather frightened of her, so I dared not insist. I tried to coax your mother into bearding her about presenting these to you at any rate on Christmas morning, but she (is she a dutiful wife?) pleaded her ill health, and declared she could not stand the stony disapproval she would see in Aunt Kezia's eye. So I threw back my shoulders and twirled my moustache, and faced the enemy myself. I had to listen to a lecture on Irish thriftlessness, but perhaps I deserved that. Poor Aunt Kezia, she's very dry and hard, and very opposite to all of you. But she is a good woman, and wants to make you all comfortable. But she doesn't approve of Christmas presents. A twinkle comes into your mother's eye (but she sternly represses the dimple you used to dig your baby fingers into) when I conjecture over her aspect on Christmas day this year! For we're a very Christmasy lot, aren't we, asthore? Be just as Christmasy as ever you can this year, my dear, and when you think of dear old Kilbrannan and us--as I know you will be doing--(a conceited old father, amn't I?)--well, just remember too that the months soon skip by, and we'll be back, please God, in a few months, and that Kilbrannan is still ours, and we have only kindly and hospitably lent it to the Harrisons for a while! But there, am I preaching? And to my brave little Nell! Don't I know she'll be making herself and others see all the bright bits?"

At breakfast Miss Kezia did not allude to her Christmas stocking. She was very amiable, and had had fish cakes added to the porridge. But in the middle of the meal Kate Kearney came into the room, looking seraphic, and carrying jauntily in her mouth a limp white muslin stocking. It was torn, and nothing remained in it now but a little wooden whistle, three or four pink and white sweets, and the china head of a doll. She carried it to Nell, and dropped it at her feet.

Miss Kezia flushed a little, and drew down her upper lip.

"I did not wish to allude to what I considered a foolish and disrespectful joke, as it is Christmas morning, but you see now what a disgraceful mess that dog must have made. I expect the stairs are strewn with sweets and toys--"

"She'd eat the sweets," interposed Sheila Pat.

"Please go and pick up the debris!"

Joyfully they all rushed from the room, and crawled about the stairs, picking up splinters of wood, wool-stuffing, china legs and arms, but no sweets. Kate Kearney had eaten them. She brought the stocking, with its few little sweets rammed into the toe, and begged them to get them out for her.

"Sweets," said Nell, "are bad for you, but 'tis Christmas morning!"

After breakfast the chief event for which everyone was waiting was the advent of the postman. Miss Kezia exclaimed surprisedly:--

"Surely there can be nothing else coming by post! The postman has been laden for you for this week past!"

Before the postman came Ted appeared. He was surrounded in the hall, and a babel of noise enveloped him. Miss Kezia's eyebrows went up, but she smiled a grim little smile of uncomprehending amiability. Ted was wearing his new tie, and valiantly flaunted the pin with which Sheila Pat had presented him.

"Come up to the Stronghold."

On the stairs he hung back and turned to Nell.

"I say, Nell, I haven't half thanked all of you--need I?"

She laughed out.

"You have--heaps and heaps!"

He shook his head.

She looked at him with a worried little frown.

"You've no _business_ to be so grateful for silly little things!"

He was mute.

She laughed again.

"Ted, I do think you're nice!"

"Er--awfully good of you--" His face was flushed, his eyebrows up.

Nell tucked her hand under his arm.

"Escort me up to the Stronghold, Mr. Lancaster."

At the door of the Stronghold Denis pounced on him.

"Here, what are you up to?"

"I say, old man, it's a gorgeous stocking, but--you might have given me a pair!"

"Come and look at everything," Molly besought.

"Fripperies and all," laughed Nell.

He took out his watch with a hurried gesture.

"Afraid I can't stay long--"

"Why not?" demanded the Atom.

"Er--I've got to get back--"

"I hoped you had come early so that you could stay a little while," said Nell.

"Oh, I say, did I come round too early?"

"Ted, don't be a goose!"

"Friend, do not put such a horribly inhospitable construction--" began Denis.

"How much?" interrupted Ted.

"Come on!" cried Denis, doubling his fists. "You have insulted me! _A outrance_!"

"When you're quite finished, Mr. Lancaster," called out Nell, "perhaps you'll condescend to look at this box!"

He gave a final thrust and turned to her.

"It is made of bog oak, and carved by a friend of ours--"

"Was that the postman?" exclaimed the Atom, and scuttled out of the room.

No one heard her save Ted.

"Isn't it a glorious design? Do you see how--"

"I--I must go! Awfully sorry! Good-bye!"

They stared after him in astonishment, then started in pursuit. In the hall they caught him. He was standing looking rather red and foolish, talking to the Atom.

Denis seized him by his collar.

"Search him! Search him!"

"Don't ass, O.B.!"

"Why did you run away like that?" queried Molly eagerly.

"If it weren't Christmas morning, I should be deciding to be offended," Nell declared.

"I'm awfully sorry. I've to go to my aunt's, you know."

"Aren't you in rather a sudden complexity of hurry?" Denis inquired. "That's a favourite remark of an old Irishwoman I know!"

"I am rather, old chap! Er--so sorry--"

"Here comes the postman!" squealed Molly, flinging open the door. Ted hurled himself through it, leapt down the steps, and with a vague flourish of his hat turned to the left and disappeared. The postman laughed as he handed package after package, letter after letter, into various eager hands outstretched for them. "You'll lighten my load a good deal, sir!"

"Happy Christmas, postman!"

"Same to you, miss."

"To the Stronghold!" went forth the cry, and up they swarmed, all heavily laden, K.K. gravely bringing up the rear with a parcel someone had dropped. Everything was tilted on to the table, and then each one pounced on various parcels--tearing of paper, cutting of string, noise, delight, exclamations!

Nell opened Ted's parcel last of all. It was an old ivory paper knife, with a little hunting scene beautifully carved on its handle.

"_Denis!_"

He turned at her tone.

"Isn't it lovely, Denis?"

He nodded.

"He knows what's what! It's ripping, Nell."

She was examining it delightedly.

"It's such a beautiful old thing--just look at the carving--that leg, Denis, isn't it wonderful? And the manes and tails--"

"_Do_ look what he's sent me, Nell," cried Molly.

"And me--"

"Are you ready for church?" Up the stairs floated Miss Kezia's voice.

"A minute, Aunt Kezia!"

There was a wild scattering and scramble.

Church was a good deal of a trial: but once Nell smiled suddenly, irresistibly. A thought had struck her. She whispered to Molly, "_I_ know why he rushed off!"

"Why?"

Nell shook her head virtuously; and Molly went back to her own thoughts, which made her eyes water and smart uncomfortably. Once back at No. 35 Henley Road, Nell observed:--

"Oh, you dullards, don't you see why Ted rushed off? It was because he was afraid of the postman--his _presents_!"

"By Jove, so it was!"

"He wasn't wantin' to be thanked," said the Atom.

"O dear, won't we make him blush next time we see him!" cried Nell. "I'll thank him and thank him and thank him!"

"Nice way of showing your gratitude," observed Denis. "You know, it _is_ trying to a chap to have a pack of girls hanging around thanking you! I know I felt it this morning," he added bashfully.

There was a perfect storm of laughter, and the pack of girls made for him with one accord.

They had an early dinner of turkey and plum pudding; and after it Sarah went off home, wearing the new scarf, and a smile from ear to ear. They roasted chestnuts, and actually prevailed upon Miss Kezia to eat two. They played games, sang carols, and to please her, a Scotch one, whereupon she remarked there was nothing like them, and a fine argument ensued between her and Sheila Pat. They all set the supper table and all cleared away. They allowed the Atom--a sleepy Atom, who desperately tried to appear a very wide awake one--to sit up till eleven o'clock, and then with big hugs they all went off to bed.

*CHAPTER XXI*

One morning, about a fortnight after Christmas, Miss Kezia was called away suddenly to the bedside of an old friend in Tunbridge Wells, who was ill. She packed and got ready in a perfect hail of her own counsel which she poured into Nell's ear. Molly, in valiant endeavours to help her aunt, hid everything she specially wanted, and poked things she didn't want into her box, till she was banished from the room. When Miss Kezia had at last taken her departure, Nell made her way to the kitchen, smiling over Denis's last words, "I say, Nell, make us some cakes for tea to celebrate the hap--mournful occasion!"

Sheila Pat queried earnestly:--

"Is the friend _very_ ill?"

"No; influenza--low-spirited--wants Aunt Kezia."

"Aren't these Scotch people _queer_?" mused Sheila Pat.

Ted looked in after a ride, hoping he would be in time to catch Denis. The sight of his riding things brought a lump to Nell's throat, but she smiled on him brightly.

"I'm going to make some cakes, Ted, and you're to help eat them this afternoon!"

"Oh, I say--er--I'm always here--"

"If you're tired of coming--"

"You know I'm not!"

"Well, then, don't be a goose."

"May I watch you make the cakes?"

She laughed.

"You're like the lodge children at home. So sure as I went into the kitchen to make cakes, yellow and black heads would appear round the door, and beaming mouths would wait for bits! Come along!"

He amused her greatly by wandering after her round the kitchen with a chair.

"You could sit down to do that!"

"I'm never tired!" she declared, laughing.

He eyed her admiringly.

"I do like that! I thought girls were always feeling tired and faint."

"Oh, Ted, how old-fashioned you are!"

"You see, I haven't known many girls."

"Your experience must have been very unfortunate," she said, and then she thought of his cousins, and blushed.

He smiled; he was thinking of them, too.

"You see these tricky little channels through these long cakes? Well, they're going to be filled with a little jam, and a great roll of thick cream!"

"Five hours to tea-time!" he sighed.

Down the stairs floated a wail of woe.

"I've upset the ink!"

"That's Molly. Do go and help her, Ted!"

To Nell presently there came the sound of Herr Schmidt's piano. She propped the kitchen door open, and prepared to listen while she worked. Hitherto she had only heard Ted play dances and jigs for them, but now it was different. It drew her slowly from the kitchen up the stairs to Herr Schmidt's room. She stood by the door and listened. He did not see her. His legs were twisted contortedly round the old-fashioned piano-stool; he was wrapt in his music. He was playing a waltz--soft, dreamy, with a beautiful, pathetic refrain that made Nell's breath catch in her throat.

When the last note had died away she went softly in. He glanced at her with a far-away look in his deep-set eyes then he flushed, and stood up, frowning.

"It was beautiful," she said softly.

"Er--glad you liked it. Piano's a good one. Finished the cakes, Nell?"

She shook her head.

"They're all burning and spoiling, I expect, but that waltz just drew my feet up here! What is it, Ted?"

"Oh--that? Just a little waltz, you know," digging his hands into his coat pockets.

"Well, yes, I know so much. But what is it called?"

"Oh--er--I don't quite know--"

"Who composed it? It was lovely!"

"Glad you liked it. I say, hadn't you better rescue your cakes?"

"Edward Lancaster, _who composed that waltz_?"

"Er--oh, I didn't see the composer's name--"

"It doesn't by any chance begin with an E and an L? Oh," she laughed out at his fiery face, "how funny you are! What is there to be ashamed of? You should be proud--_proud_! Are all the English like that? Shake hands, Ted! It's lovely!"

"No--it's nothing!" But he looked delighted all the same. "You see, I got this part," sitting down and softly playing the sad little refrain, "I got that at home this morning;"--he had forgotten his shyness in his interest,--"but I couldn't get a setting for it, and then suddenly down in the kitchen just now, amongst the cakes, I got it!"

"I'm glad it was the happy part that came to you while you were with me!" she laughed, and fled down to her cakes.

At tea that afternoon she nodded at Ted. "You're to take that burnt one, please!" she said mischievously.

"Honoured," he declared, and they both laughed.

They had an evening of music, singing, and dancing down in Herr Schmidt's room. They moved his table and chairs close to the walls, and danced to their hearts' content.

It was in the midst of a rollicking chorus that Herr Schmidt returned unexpectedly. He stood in the doorway, unseen, unheard, while the chorus rang out:--

"'Mush, mush, mush, tooral i-add
Mush, mush, mush, tooral i-ay!
There was ne'er a gossoon in the village,
Dare thread on the tail of me coat!'"

"By Jove, the owner!" ejaculated Ted, as Denis started on the next verse.

Denis nodded with gay insouciance at Herr Schmidt, and sang on.

Nell went forward, laughing:--

"Oh, Herr Schmidt, we knew you wouldn't mind our using your room--_do_ you?"

"Nein, nein! It is a great unexpectful bleasure, Fraeulein! It is so goot of you, meine liebe! I am so bleased, so very much bleased!" He was patting her hand and beaming round his crowded room. "Ach, zere is my little Miss Sheila! But zere is no fire!" His face fell ludicrously. "How inhospital! Why did not ze maid light ze fire? Fraeulein, we must light ze fire at once!"

They persuaded him to sing, and his great rolling bass amused Molly so much that she had to retire to the stairs to hide her mirth. Then he joined their supper party, and his broad, red, beaming face, with its kind little eyes twinkling over his glasses, was certainly indicative of enjoyment.

*CHAPTER XXII*

"On, Denis!" said Nell, looking up from a letter from Miss Kezia. They were at breakfast. In the middle of the table there was a great jar of jonquils. In a tiny glass bowl were some precious snowdrops from home. The room wore a rakish air somehow. Perhaps it was the different arrangement of the furniture, which, instead of standing stiffly in set places, was clotted about haphazard just wherever it happened to find itself. On one chair lay a smock of the Atom's, with a needle and cotton stuck into it where Nell had begun to mend a rent. On another lay Molly's gloves. Books and papers were scattered about--James O'Driscoll wandered about and picked out all the furniture buttons that he could find. The sun peeped in and laughed and danced to think what Miss Kezia would say.

"Oh, Denis!" said Nell.

He looked up from a letter.

"What's up?"

Nell bit her lip.

"What's _up_?"

With eyes cast down, she began rather tremulously:--

"It's--it's Miss Hadlow. She has it worse than Aunt Kezia thought. She doesn't think she'll be able to be home for some days yet."

"How many days, Nell?" queried the Atom, anxiously.

"She doesn't know, but she says Miss Hadlow won't take proper nourishment unless she's there to make her; and it is essential that while the influenza runs its course, she should take sufficient nourishment to keep up her strength. Denis, you're _not_ to laugh!"

"How long does it take running its course?" asked Molly.

"I don't know. A week--"

"Oh, more than that," said Denis, cheerfully.

"Poor Miss Hadlow!" said Molly, dutifully.

They all began to laugh and laugh.

"Aren't we h-h-horrid?" gasped Nell.

"I don't see _why_," argued the Atom; "if she were _really_ ill, we'd be sorry--I suppose."

Denis shouted with laughter at her tone.

"She isn't ill, you see," pursued Sheila Pat. "She's just like a baby and won't take this and won't take that! So I don't see why we should be sorry yet awhile--we will be when she gets worse, perhaps."

"Denis," said Nell, "I'm going to give Sarah a holiday!"

"To celebrate the joy--melancholy occasion?"

Nell had been waving Aunt Kezia's letter with its reams of counsel and advice over her head. She laid it down demurely.

"Don't be silly, Denis. I consider Sarah deserves a holiday."

"Prunes and prisms! So she does!"

"And it's Saturday, so you can help after lunch."

"I'm at your service, fair Eileen."

When Sarah came to clear the table Nell waved her away.

"Sarah, go and put on your outdoor apparel! You are to have a holiday. We--the O'Briens--have decreed it so."

"Yes, miss--_what_? A 'oliday? What for, miss?"

"For general good conduct, Sarah."