"Six! Oh, and I had Pam's music-lesson at half-past five! How awful of me to forget! You were so interesting, and I was enjoying myself so much. I must fly!"

"It's no use, I'm afraid. You can't put the clock back. There's one comfort—Pam will forgive you! That's the little one, I suppose, with the kitten face. I must get to know her soon."

Mrs Vanburgh tripped downstairs by Betty's side, and shook hands with the geniality of a lifelong friendship.

"Remember Saturday!" she cried. "Three o'clock punctually, and bring all your stores of small talk with you, for the first half-hour."

Betty ran across the darkened street and let herself into her own house, aglow with pleasurable excitement. Life looked quite a different thing in the last few hours, wherein a friend and a vocation had alike sprung into being. After all, it was a delightful old world! She would never grumble again, since at any moment such delightful surprises might arise.

The door swung open. How cold and grey the hall appeared after the glowing richness of Mrs Vanburgh's carpets and hangings! Betty made a little grimace at the linoleum, and lifting her eyes was suddenly aware of a wrathful figure confronting her from the threshold of the dining- room—Jill, standing with arms akimbo, flushed cheeks, and flashing eyes.

"So you have deigned to come back, have you? What business had you to go to tea with her at all, I should like to know? She's my friend! I knew her first! What right had you to go poking yourself forward?"

"I didn't poke. She asked me! Mother can tell you that she did. I'm going again on Saturday."

Jill's wrath gave way to an overwhelming anxiety.

"And me? And me? I am sure she asked me too."

"No, she didn't. It's a grown-up party. She'll ask you another time with Pam. She said she wanted to know Pam."

It was the last straw to be classed with Pam, a child of eight summers! Jill stuttered with mortified rage.

"S-neak! Just like you! Mark my word, Elizabeth Trevor, I'll be even with you about this!"



CHAPTER NINE.

A VISIT TO THE VICTIM.

During the next week Betty's thoughts were continually winging across the Square to her new friend, Mrs Vanburgh, though her own time was so fully occupied, that, with the exception of a sudden encounter in the street, they did not see anything of each other until the great Saturday arrived.

Meantime it rankled in Jill's mind that she had been unfairly treated, and, in consequence, she was constantly endeavouring to hit on some scheme which would at once vindicate her own importance and put Betty's adventure in the shade. General Digby, as a new and striking personality in her small circle of acquaintances, naturally suggested himself as a fitting object for the enterprise, and she lost no time in consulting her ally.

"I say, Jack, when you saw the 'Victim' home the other night, did you notice the address?"

"What do you take me for, silly? I have eyes, haven't I? Of course I noticed it."

"You may have eyes, but you certainly haven't a memory. Do you happen to remember where it was?"

"No, I don't, but I wrote it down in my pocket-book, so I could soon find out if I wanted to. Why?"

"Because I think we ought to call and ask how he is."

"Father says he's all right except for his gout."

"I know—but it would be polite to call. Mother always does, even when she knows they are better. And as we were the—er—what do you call it?—cause of the accident—"

"Innocent?"

"No, that's not it! A much finer word—un—un—unwitting!—that's it, so it's all the more proper that we should inquire. How far off is it? Could we meet and go together after school this afternoon?"

"It's near enough, as far as that goes—one of those swagger flats in Prince's Square. I suppose we could manage all right. Will you tell mother about it?"

"Not till we get back. I am sure she would think it very nice and kind of us, but she'd want me to put on best things, and worry about my hair. I wish I'd been born a savage! I do so loathe being bothered about clothes."

"Never mind. No one would think to look at you that you ever bothered about them at all," quoth Jack, with somewhat unflattering sympathy. "I'll wait for you at the corner of Prince's Square. I'm not going to meet all those sniggering girls if I know it."

So it was arranged, and Jill swelled with importance for the rest of the day, longing for four o'clock to arrive, and set her free from her duties.

Pam went to the door with her sister after lunch, and stood shivering upon the top step while they exchanged farewells. She herself attended only the morning school, and was apt to find the afternoons rather lonely when the twins were out, and Betty was absorbed in her studies.

"Come back quickly," she pleaded. "Do come back quickly, and 'muse me!" and Jill nodded a bright assent.

"I'll amuse you finely—when I come!"

She pranced off, tossing back her hair, and swinging her satchel to and fro, while Pam looked after her with admiring envy. How lovely to be old like that—quite old—old enough to do your own hair, and walk to school by yourself! Pam heaved another sigh, and glanced wistfully up and down the Square—the look of a captive who longs to escape. A policeman was strolling along his beat. Emily and Hannah were taking their places in the old-fashioned barouche preparatory to starting on their afternoon amble. Just across the road old "All a-growing all a- blowing" was standing by his barrow, loudly urging a passer-by to purchase one of his plants.

Pam looked longingly at the branching palms as his guttural accents came to her ear—

"Buy a palm, lidy, won't you, lidy? Very cheap—cheaper than you could buy 'em anywhere in the City. If you've got such a thing as an old dress or a pair of trousers, of the master's, I'd allow you 'ansome for them. I'd rather have clothes nor money. I'm a married man, lidy, with a fam'ly of children—"

"Pam, Pam," cried Mrs Trevor's voice, "don't stand out there, darling. It's far too cold. Come in here to me."

Pam obediently shut the door, and settled down to the afternoon duties of plain sewing and practice, which her soul abhorred. It was characteristic of her that she never rebelled against authority, nor expressed her distaste in words. A meek, uncomplaining little martyr, she sat perched on the piano-stool, wrestling with the "Blue Bells of Scotland," the while the wildest rebellion surged within her soul.

"I wish pianos had never been born! I wish I'd been made a boy. When I'm a lidy," (unconscious intonation of "All a-blowing!") "I'll have no pianos in the house, nor no needles, and my little girls shall 'muse themselves however they like. The—Blue—Bells—of—Scot—land... It doesn't go a bit nice in the bass! Don't believe I shall ever get it right if I live a hundred thousand years?"

The moment school was over Jill made a rush for the dressing-room, scrambled into her outdoor clothes, and hurried to the appointed meeting-place, where Jack found her a few minutes later. It was already dusk, and they set off at a brisk trot towards the mansions in which General Digby's flat was situated, in great hopes of finding that gentleman at home and disengaged.

"It's too damp for him to be out. Gout's a kind of rheumatism, and that always has to be kept dry," Jill declared learnedly. "He's sure to be in, but I've got a card, just in case. It's a correspondence one cut down, and I've printed our names on it, and 'Kind inquiries' in the corner, like mother puts. It's fine! When I cough it will mean that I don't know what to say next, so you must go on while I think. If he asks us to stay to tea, we must say we can't, until he begs us again."

"But suppose he didn't—that would be a pretty sell! I shan't do anything so silly," said cautious Jack. "I'll accept at once."

"Well—perhaps. But it's politer to make a fuss. Is it a man who opens the door, or a woman?"

"A man—looks like an old soldier himself."

"What's the proper way to tell him our names?"

"Jack and Mary Trevor, of course."

"It isn't! Miss Mary Trevor and Master Jack Trevor, if you please!"

"If you're miss, I'm mister. I'm not going to be called 'master,' as if I were a kid!"

"All right, then—Miss and Mr Trevor. I'll speak, because I'm the lady, and give him the card to carry up."

Jack was not at all anxious to take the lead, so he assented by means of the usual grunt, and when the door of the flat was reached, and the man- servant appeared in response to a furious onslaught on the electric bell, he stood by silently while Jill conducted operations.

"Does a gentleman called General Digby live here?"

"He does, madam."

Jill gave a toss to her saucy head. She had never before been addressed as "madam," and the sensation was distinctly agreeable.

"We want to see him, please."

The butler looked in hesitating fashion from one of the strange visitors to the other—Jill with her elfin locks, shabby hat and thick woollen gloves; Jack with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his school cap at the back of his head.

"I am not sure, madam, that the General is receiving this afternoon."

"Then please take in my card and inquire," returned Jill with a burst of dignity, which surprised herself and rilled Jack with admiration.

The butler also looked distinctly impressed, though the card itself, when produced from the recesses of Jill's pocket, had somewhat lost its first crispness and beauty. He placed it on a silver salver and disappeared down the passage, while the twins peered curiously through the doorway.

Old guns, swords, and curious-looking Eastern weapons hung against the wall; stags' heads peered over the different doorways; a great glass- case of stuffed birds stood on a table. "Hidjus!" thought Jill. "Ripping!" thought Jack, his mind turning longingly to the exciting scenes of sport in which these trophies had been captured. He had time to examine them pretty thoroughly before the servant returned, but when he did make his appearance he brought with him the desired answer. The General was "at home," and would be pleased to receive Miss and Mr Trevor forthwith.



CHAPTER TEN.

THE GENERAL'S STORY.

Jill stepped forward, tossing her head, as though to imply that there had never been any doubt about her welcome, and Jack followed closely behind, while the servant led the way down two long passages running at right angles to each other, and threw open a door at the end, announcing the visitors' names in stentorian tones.

A strong whiff of cigar smoke filled the air, and there sat the General on a crimson velvet arm-chair, which was hardly redder than his own complexion. His protruding eyes looked as glassy as ever, and his grey locks were ruffled at the top until he bore a ludicrous likeness to a paroquet. He held the crumpled card in his hand, and greeted his visitors with a chuckle of amusement.

"Well, sir. Well, ma'am—'kind enquiries,' eh? Come to see how the poor old man is faring after his fall?"

"Yes! We wanted to know. We thought it would be polite, as we were the un—er—unwitting causers of your accident."

Jill brought out the right word with fine effect, whereupon the General made great play with his outstanding tufts of eyebrow, pretending to frown, and look ferocious.

"Un—witting, indeed! If that is your idea of unwitting, I should like to know how you would define deliberate intent! I'll forgive you this time, but let me catch you at any of your tricks again, and the fat will be in the fire! Sit down—sit down. It's not often an old bachelor like myself has the honour of entertaining a young lady visitor. No man has had better friends, or more of them, than Terence Digby, but there are precious few remaining nowadays. I've left them behind me in many a lonely grave, without a stick or stone to show the resting-place of some of the bravest fellows the world has ever known. It's lonely work to outlive one's best friends."

"Have you been in many wars, sir?" asked Jack, quick to scent a story of adventure. He dropped his hat on the floor and wriggled back in his chair, the rebellious locks of hair which his sisters christened "Cetewayo," after the Zulu chief, sticking up rampantly at the back of his head. "Have you been in any real, proper wars?"

"I should think I have, sir. Many wars, and tough and serious wars at that, though a whipper-snapper like you would not know their names, and the English newspapers sandwich the news of them in a corner—with a small headline of 'Border War.' It's the Border Wars which keep the Empire together, let me tell you, sir—the Border Wars which entail the most self-sacrificing and thankless work. There's no honour and glory about them. The people you are fighting for don't even take the trouble to find out where you are, or what the trouble is about. Not that there ought to be any hardship about that to the true soldier. He fights for his King! That is enough for him!"

A curious softening of expression came over the fierce old face as he spoke the last sentence. The young people both noticed it, and dimly suspected a deeper meaning to the words, but they were in no mood for moralising.

"I should prefer the honour and glory," Jill declared boldly. "I'd hate to be sent to fight savages in pokey out-of-the-way places where nobody was watching and saying, 'England expects!' I could be most terrifically brave, if I knew it would be in the papers in the morning, and I should be a hero when I got home; but I'd be scared to death up among great lonely mountains with the feeling that nobody cared. Were you ever frightened, General Digby?"

"Soldiers are never frightened. You are only a girl," interrupted Jack indignantly, but his host did not agree with his conclusions.

"She may be a girl, but she knows what she is talking about. She understands, because she is a girl, perhaps. Women have that faculty born in them. Banners and flags, and bands playing patriotic airs, and the feeling that the world is watching, have an inspiring effect on the most timid of men. Who told you that a soldier was never afraid, young sir? Whoever it was did not know what he was talking about. Yes, I have been afraid, deadly afraid, many times over, and no man dared to call Terence Digby a coward. To camp with a handful of men among the great lonely mountains, as your sister so aptly puts it, never knowing when or how the attack may fall—an attack of devils rather than men; to know that if you are taken torture will be your portion, not death,— there is nothing to dread in dying for one's country,—that shakes the nerves of the strongest man! I hear people talking about modern warfare, and saying it is the hardest trial of bravery to fight an unseen foe three or four miles away. Well, well! I wonder if they have ever seen a rush of one of those warlike hill-tribes, and stood waiting to receive it as I have had to do times and again!"

"Did you kill lots of men—yourself? How many have you killed?" Jack inquired eagerly, but the General refused to be specific.

"I prefer not to think. It's not a pleasant recollection. When the world is a little older, let us hope we shall find some better way of settling a quarrel than seeing who can kill off the most men. What are you going to be when you are a man, Mr Jack? Going in for a profession?"

Jack's face fell. For personal questions, especially questions referring to his studies, he had a strong distaste. He wriggled on his chair, and mumbled between his lips—

"Trying for a scholarship. Half fees for the next three years. If I get it father will send me on to Cambridge. He wants me to be a doctor, and help him in the practice when he gets old."

"And you?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders.

"I'd like to be a surgeon. It would be fine patching people up, setting their bones, and trying things no one had dared to do before; but I couldn't stand driving round every day to look after their wretched colds, and vaccinate the babies. I'd like to be an army doctor best of all."

"Humph! Would you! Much you know about it. I fancy you'd soon be thankful to take on the babies in exchange. Well, I've only one piece of advice to give you, my boy: never be persuaded to take up a career into which you cannot throw your whole heart and soul. You are responsible for your life's work, and will have to account for it some day. Don't make things harder by drifting into uncongenial surroundings. You look to me like a young fellow who might drift. Too easy-going by half!"

Jack flushed uncomfortably. He hated being criticised, especially when the criticism was true, as conscience proclaimed the present indictment to be. There came to him every now and then moments of illumination, when, as if a flashlight was suddenly played over the future, he realised that he would soon be a man, with a man's duties and responsibilities to himself and to others, and that these years of preparation were his training-ground for the fight, concerning the spending of which he would either rejoice or sorrow all his life long. At such moments the blood tingled in his veins, and he felt strong to do all things, and deny himself all things, if only the goal could be reached; but the vision soon faded, and he relapsed once more into careless, happy-go-lucky ways, caring more for a "lark" than for any solid gain, present or to come.

The old man stared at the boy for a moment,—seemed as if about to add something to his denunciation, but changed his mind, and addressed Jill instead.

"And you, missy? Girls have professions nowadays as well as their brothers. Have you any special vocation in view?"

Jill shook her pretty shaggy head.

"Oh no, I'm just going to be a plain lady!" whereat the General threw himself back in his chair with a stentorian laugh.

"No, that you never will! That is, fortunately, out of your own hands. You will have to make another choice, my dear."

Jill showed her white teeth in a smile, wholly unembarrassed by the compliment.

"I mean, I shall get married as soon as I leave school. I should hate to have to make money for myself. I'll marry a rich man with lots of dogs and horses, and then I can enjoy myself without any bother."

The General drew his eyebrows together and stared scrutinisingly at the girlish figure seated on the high-backed oak chair. Flowing locks, short petticoats, heavy boots, woollen gloves—just a bit of a schoolgirl in the hobbledehoy stage in which feminine instincts seem dormant—and the ambitions are more those of a boy than a girl. But Jill was going to be a woman some day, and a fascinating woman into the bargain, with all the power for good or evil over the lives of others which such fascination brings. The General shook his head in warning fashion.

"Don't say that, my girl. Never say or think a thing like that again! You are only a child, but you'll grow up. It's wonderful how quickly you young things spring up. You'll be a woman before you can say, 'Jack Robinson!' and there's no worse sin a woman can commit than to look upon marriage as a mere profession, an easy way of securing board and lodging. It's not only ruining her own life—it's ten times worse—for it ruins another into the bargain. When I was a young fellow I asked a girl to marry me—the only girl I ever did ask—and she wouldn't look at me. She was a poor girl, and I had lots of money, but she was honest with me all the same, and I've been grateful to her all my life. I've been a lonely old fellow, but it would have been a thousand times worse to have had a wife who did not love me! You put it out of your head, little girl, that you are going to sell yourself for all the horses and dogs in creation."

"Um—" said Jill vaguely.

She had scented a love—story, and with the inherent curiosity of her sex was dying to hear more about it.

"And what became of the girl? Did she marry—someone else?"

"Which girl? Oh—I suppose so! I went out to India and lost sight of her. I did not want to see her again. I hope she settled down with a good fellow who could take care of her. Hullo, what's this?"

The man-servant had entered the room with a tray, which he proceeded to place on a table by Jill's side. It contained the usual paraphernalia for afternoon tea, but it appeared that the General did not as a rule indulge in this meal, hence his astonishment at its appearance.

"Thought the young lady would like some, eh? Quite right—quite right. You keep me up to my duties as usual! Johnson has been with me for the last thirty years!" he explained to his guests. "We fought together in the East, and I should get on badly without him nowadays. Now, my dear, help yourself. You are the lady of the party, so you must preside."

Jill pulled off her gloves, gave a surreptitious lick to an ink-stain on the second finger of her right hand, rubbed it dry on the side of her dress, and proceeded to do the honours with equal self-possession and enjoyment. If Betty could see her now! A real General with a man- servant to wait upon him! It was a hundred times more important and exciting than Mrs Vanburgh and her governesses!

"Have you got any medals—Victoria Crosses and things?" she asked, with a view to adding point to her account of the interview, and the General gave a loud guffaw of amusement.

"A selection of Victoria Crosses! Eh, what? No, I am sorry to say I have not; only one or two medals, such as any man might possess who has served the same number of years. Where are they? In a drawer in my bedroom, of course! You don't expect me to hang them up on the wall, do you?"

"Yes, I do. I should! Where everyone would see and ask questions about them. I'd wear them, too, whenever I possibly could!" cried Jill, unabashed, and once more the General shook his head and exclaimed—

"Woman, woman!" in a tone of tragic significance.

When the meal was over, however, he yielded to Jack's entreaties, and escorted his visitors into the adjoining bedroom, where various warlike trophies reposed with the medals in the drawers of an old cabinet. The boy's interest was intense, but Jill soon wearied and turned to inspect the general furnishing of the room. It was very bare and plain—a narrow camp bed, a few chairs, and a dressing-table—bare of everything but the absolute necessities of toilet, and those of the simplest description. One saw the old soldier in every arrangement, but it was on the opposite corner of the room that Jill's eyes rested with the greatest astonishment.

On the wall hung a picture which she did not remember having seen before, representing a group of Eastern beggars, and in the foreground the figure of Christ with a beautiful, earnest face—a young face, not the worn and haggard representation so often seen—talking to one whose handsome robes showed him to be a person of position, who stood with hanging head and pained, disappointed expression. Beneath the picture stood a kneeling-chair with a pile of devotional books on the ledge. The whole effect was that of a quiet corner or "closet," as the Apostle calls it, and Jill was still staring at it with distended eyes when the General turned round and discovered her.

"You appear to be astonished by the sight of my corner! Why?" he inquired, and a more observant listener might have discovered a certain tension and anxiety in his tone, but Jill noticed nothing, and answered with the brutal candour of youth—

"I—I did not think you were—like that!"

"Ah! Why not? Because I lost my temper, and railed at you the other day. Eh, what?"

Jack and Jill gave a simultaneous exclamation of denial, for there had been a note of real pain and shame in the old man's voice which was quick to reach their hearts. In truth, they had thought no less of the General for his expression of temper. It was only what was to be expected under the circumstances, and he had been a brick in defending them from their father's anger. It was difficult to explain the real reason of their surprise at the discovery of his Christianity. One could not say, for instance, "because your face is so red, and your eyes are so fierce, and your voice is so loud, and your manner of conversation so abrupt and startling; because you have been a slayer of men, and have lived a life of storm and adventure," yet it was in truth the contrast to the pale, anaemic type which young people instinctively picture in a devotee which caused the astonishment in their minds. They remained silent, hanging their heads, while the General continued sadly—

"Well, well, I don't wonder! That tongue of mine has dishonoured me a hundred times before now, but, bad specimen as I am, I should be a hundred times worse but for the time spent in that corner. Have you seen that picture before?"

Jill shook her head.

"No, it is not half so well-known as it deserves to be! 'Christ and the Young Ruler,' who went away sorrowful 'because he had great possessions.' It has never entered your head, I suppose, to pray to be preserved from prosperity, or in prosperity, if you like that better? Of course not! Precious few people ever do, yet the temptations of prosperity are fifty times more subtle, if they are less pressing, than those of poverty. I tell you, sir, when a man is young and strong, and feels the blood coursing in his veins, and when his balance at the banker's allows him to do pretty well as he chooses, it is precious difficult to realise that he needs any help, human or Divine. Even now—selfish old beggar that I am!—I have no one's convenience but my own to consider, and if I want a thing there's no end of a fuss if I don't get it in the twinkling of an eye. So I keep that picture there to remind me that my money is only lent to me to use for the good of others. Christ, the Captain! I am here to obey His orders!"

As he spoke he lifted his hand to his brow in stiff military salute, and over the fierce old face came the same wonderful softening which the twins had noticed a few minutes before.

They were speechless with embarrassment, as young things often are when a conversation suddenly takes a serious turn; but when they had taken their leave, with many invitations to repeat their visit, the same thought lingered in the mind of each as they made their way homeward.

"Fancy him turning out so—good!" cried Jill wonderingly. "He really almost—preached. I was surprised!"

"Humph!" returned Jack vaguely, for the figure of the old soldier saluting his Captain had made too deep an impression on his heart to be lightly discussed. "Christ, the Captain!" The idea appealed to his boyish instincts, and awoke a new ambition. Hitherto he had looked upon religion as a thing apart from his own life, the monopoly of women and clergymen, whose business it was; now for the first time it appealed to him as a fine and manly virtue.

Sitting by his lonely fireside, General Digby reproached himself for his lack of influence on his new friends. He would have been a happy man if he had known that by God's grace he had that afternoon planted a seed for God in Jack Trevor's careless heart. "Christ, the Captain!" To the last day of the boy's life he never forgot those words, nor the picture of the old soldier with his hand raised to the salute.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

BETTY AND CYNTHIA MEET.

"Jill, do you know where my green check blouse has gone? I can't find it anywhere."

"How should I know? I haven't taken it—wouldn't be seen in the horrid old thing! Why are you worrying if it has disappeared? I thought you said the other day that it was too shabby to wear any more?"

"So I did, but I want the buttons to put on a new blouse. It was hanging up in my cupboard last week."

"I expect it's there still, only you can't see it because it's hidden away behind your dresses. What is far more important is my umbrella. Somebody has eaten it, I believe—it's simply gone!"

"You have left it at school again. You are always losing your umbrellas."

"People steal them, I suppose, because they are so beautiful! Alpaca— three and eleven! Mother says it's no use giving me a silk because I'm not careful. That's bad reasoning! I should be careful if I had a silk. But it's not my fault this time. I know I brought it home, because there was an apple inside it which Norah gave me in prep. I ate it last night, and this morning the brolley has vanished. It's hard lines, for I shall get a rowing if it doesn't turn up, and it isn't my fault a bit."

"Oh, I expect you'll find it all right. It's so tiresome, because the buttons exactly match this blouse, and I want it for Saturday," returned Betty, too much absorbed in her own affairs to have any sympathy to spare for Jill's loss. All the week long she lived in the thought of Saturday, and when at long last the day arrived she could hardly wait until three o'clock, so anxious was she to be at her post.

Mrs Vanburgh came to meet her at the door of the dining-room, looking flushed and excited.

"Come in here!" she said. "We are beginning to set out the table, so you are just in time. I want to have everything ready by the half- hour."

"Who are 'we,' I wonder?" was Betty's mental question as she crossed the threshold, and the next moment brought with it a shock of surprise, for, standing in the middle of the room, her hair shining like an aureola round her head, stood no less a person than the Pampered Pet herself. A plate of cakes was held in one hand, and a plate of bread-and-butter in the other, and she stood stock still, staring at the new-comer, apparently as much surprised to recognise Betty as Betty was to recognise herself.

"This is my friend Cynthia Alliot; this is my friend Betty Trevor!" cried Mrs Vanburgh, introducing the two girls with an easy wave of the hand. "She can't shake hands, poor dear, so you'll have to take the will for the deed. Where shall we put those plates? There doesn't seem much room left."

There did not, indeed! Betty stared in amazement at the noble feast which had been provided for the expected guests. The dining-table was profusely decorated with flowers, which looked especially beautiful at this dull, wintry season. Dishes of cold fowls, ham, and tongue, were flanked by every imaginable description of cakes, both small and large. Different sorts of jam were dotted here and there among the larger dishes; tea and coffee cups were ranged at the farther end. It was, in fact, a North Country high-tea of the most complete and tempting description.

"Light refreshments are to be served in the drawing-room. This is for those who can stay on for several hours. My husband is going to dine at his club, so we can keep the dear things as long as they are happy," said Nan with a gush, while the two girls smiled at each other with shy friendliness.

"Now I shall get to know them! Now they may get to like me, and ask me to sit with them in their schoolroom," thought lonely Cynthia longingly.

"The Pet herself! She is pretty! Miles would admire her more than ever; and oh, what a blouse, and I thought mine was quite nice!" sighed Betty dolorously.

Both Mrs Vanburgh and her friend were very simply attired, but with a dainty finish and elegance from which Betty's home-made garment was very far removed. She felt plain and dowdy beside them, and her spirits suffered in consequence. Superior people may despise her for so doing, but they don't understand how a girl feels, so their opinion is not worth having. At seventeen it takes real grace to be a contented Cinderella, and poor Betty did not at all enjoy the position.

It was difficult, however, for any companions of Nan Vanburgh to be depressed for long together, so bright was she, so radiant, so brisk, friendly, and confidential. The girls were sent flying hither and thither until all the preparations were finished, then—

"Let's go out into the hall, and pretend to be governesses, and walk in again, to see how the effect strikes us," she cried; and out they rushed, like a trio of merry schoolgirls, drawing their faces into expressions of abnormal gravity, to march back again solemn and slow.

"Pray be seated. You must be exhausted after your long walk. To what can I assist you?"

"The breast of a fowl, please, and a portion of ham; a cup of tea and a few hot muffins— Goodness me, are you going to talk to the poor creatures like that? They will be daunted!" replied Cynthia, all in a breath. She was not at all proper, Betty was glad to see, but as full of fun as an ordinary commonplace girl. "What are you going to talk to them about?" she demanded of her hostess, who shook her head in somewhat helpless fashion, and replied—

"I don't know! I'm hoping for inspiration at the last moment, and eating is a grand resource! Ply them well with muffins till the ice is broken—"

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the sound of an electric bell, upon hearing which Mrs Vanburgh uttered a sharp exclamation of dismay, and rushed for the hall. Her two assistants followed, but even they in their schoolgirl stage could not keep up with the pace at which she literally flew up the staircase. Her feet seemed hardly to touch the ground; she sprang up two steps at a time, crying continuously, "Quick, quick!" until, just as the head of the staircase was reached, cr-r-r-ur! Came the sounds of ripping seams, and a long dangle of silk flounce showed underneath her skirt.

"Just my luck!" she cried disconsolately. "It never seems as if I could get upstairs like anyone else. Now they'll think I'm an untidy wretch, and it will all be spoiled. What's the use of silk flounces anyway? I'll never have another—I vow I won't! There! I'll pin it up with a brooch till they've gone. We must be in the drawing-room ready to receive. Cynthia, sit over there, and pretend to be reading. Miss Trevor, you might be casually poking the fire. Whatever we do, we mustn't alarm the poor dears by looking formal."

"I am a great deal more alarmed of the poor dears than they will be of me! My sister Jill pretended to swoon at the idea of a room full of governesses. She said it was more like a nightmare than a piece of real life."

"Hush!" whispered Mrs Vanburgh tragically. "They come!" for footsteps were heard ascending the staircase, and the assistants flew to their posts, while the hostess endeavoured to hum a tune in a light and jaunty manner.

Another moment and the door was thrown open to disclose—a servant, bearing a note upon a silver salver. It was not a governess after all!

The two girls came forward into the room, divided between relief and disappointment.

Mrs Vanburgh tossed the note impatiently aside, and said resignedly—

"Ah, well, it gives us all the longer to prepare! I'll run into my room and mend this horrid dress, and you might arrange these books of photographs. They are really awfully interesting, and of almost every country you can imagine. Old Mr Vanburgh collected them on his travels, so you have only to find out which country interests your special governess most, and—there you are! It will save no end of exertion!"

She ran out of the room, and the two girls stood together, seized with a sudden shyness at finding themselves alone.

"I—I think we know each other very well by sight," said Cynthia, and Betty blushed and blinked, remembering the crowded schoolroom window and her own scathing criticisms.

"Yes—I'm afraid we have stared a great deal. We are so interested in our neighbours, but they are almost all old—you were the only young one like ourselves. We were frightfully anxious to know all about you."

Cynthia gave a pathetic little sigh.

"There's so little to know! There's just mother and me—and father at the other end of the world. It isn't half so exciting as having brothers and sisters, and going to school, and having good times all together. I have envied you so!"

"Me!" cried Betty, aghast. "You envied me! How extraordinary! I've perfectly ached with envying you sometimes."

"Oh, why?" asked Cynthia; and as Betty looked into her wide earnest eyes she felt of a sudden shamed and silenced. How could she acknowledge that she had envied the greater luxury, the cosy fire in the bedroom, the pink evening dress, the monopoly of attention, she who was so rich in the dear human companionship which the other lacked!

"There are drawbacks to a large family, you know," she exclaimed. "We don't always have good times. Sometimes we all get cross together and quarrel like cats, and then it feels as if it would be so nice and peaceful to be the only one. You have no one to quarrel with."

"I have myself. I quarrel fearfully with myself," said Cynthia.

She perched herself on the arm of a high chair and stared at Betty with her grave grey eyes. She wore an enamel buckle on her belt, a gold bangle encircled her wrist, her shoes, her stockings, her ribbons were all in the perfection of taste. Betty felt another twinge of envy at the sight, and wondered what in the world such a lucky person could find to quarrel about! In manner Cynthia was as simple and direct as Pam herself. A Pet she might be, but there was nothing pampered or self- satisfied for the most carping critic to discover.

"I do get so bored with myself," she said plaintively. "My mother has stayed in England on purpose to look after me and my education, and it is always a case of 'This would be good for Cynthia,' 'That would be bad for Cynthia,' 'What would be best for Cynthia?'—there is altogether too much Cynthia in my life, and I am sick of her. In a big family one would have so many people to think of that there would be no room for self."

"No—o!" said Betty doubtfully. Her conscience told her that despite father and mother, and Miles and Jack, and Jill and Pamela, Betty loomed very large on her own horizon, but she was ashamed to confess the fact in so many words, and it was a relief when Mrs Vanburgh came bustling back in her quick energetic fashion.

"There!" she cried. "I've put in a row of safety-pins. I couldn't spare the time to sew it up just now. It's half-past three, and they may be arriving any moment. I'll talk to each one as she comes in, and artlessly find out how long she can stay, then I'll hand her over to you to be treated accordingly. Tea and cake if it's a call, photographs and light conversation if it's a visit. Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?"

Cynthia looked round from the window and shook her head.

"Nary a governess! They wouldn't like to come exactly at the hour you mention. Perhaps they are prowling round the Square, whiling away the time until it is polite to appear."

"Oh dear, I wish they wouldn't! I like things to happen at once! I get fidgety and nervous if I have to wait," cried Mrs Vanburgh, poking the fire with such violence that the ashes were strewn all over the grate.

"Let's pretend that you are the first-comers, and rehearse the conversation! Now then, go out of the room and come in, and I'll welcome you."

Cynthia and Betty dutifully retreated to the hall, whence came a sound of subdued giggling and whispering, lasting for several minutes, at the expiration of which the door was thrown open and "Miss Perks" announced in a voice shaken by laughter, whereupon Cynthia bounced into the room, transformed almost out of recognition by a few touches accomplished by Betty's nimble fingers.

Her long mane of hair was twisted into an exaggerated "door-knocker," at the top of which, with all the appearance of a very fly-away toque, was perched one of the frilled pink shades which covered the electric lights; a piece of Eastern drapery was folded scarf-like round her shoulders. Perk by name and Perk by nature did she appear as she minced across the room, while hostess and maid alike looked on in helpless convulsions of laughter. No rehearsal was possible under the circumstances, though Cynthia persisted in acting her part, and sat on the edge of the sofa tossing her head, and delivering herself of staccato little sentences in reply to imaginary questions suitable to the occasion.

"Oh, really! No indeed! Unusually cold for the time of year. Most kind of you, I'm sure. Charming opportunity?"

"You impertinent girl; go and put back those things this minute! How dare you make fun of me and spoil the look of my hall!" cried Nan, wiping the tears from her eyes; then she turned towards the clock, and her face fell.

"Ten minutes to four! They ought to be coming! Why don't they come?— Now then, I told you how it would be! There's the bell, and everything upset!"

With a bound Miss Perks was in the middle of the floor, tearing the scarf from her shoulders, and shaking her hair loose from its fastenings. Betty jumped on a chair to put the shade back in its place, Nan threw the drapery over the easel, which being done, all three rushed to the head of the staircase, and peered curiously into the hall beneath.

Once more disappointment awaited them, for a brown-paper parcel was the nearest approach to a governess which met their gaze, and the return to the drawing-room was conducted in a much more leisurely and dignified manner than the exit. For the first time the awful possibility of failure seemed to dawn on the hostess's heart.

"Suppose," she said blankly, "suppose Nobody comes! It would be a terrible disappointment, but the worst of all would be Gervase—my husband! He laughed so at the preparations. I've provided enough for twenty. He would tease me to death if it were all left."

"It won't be!" cried Betty stoutly. "If the worst comes to the worst, I shall be so ravenous with disappointment and nervous strain by six o'clock, that I shall be able to demolish enough for ten."

"And you can't say you have had nobody. You have had Miss Perks," added Cynthia slyly; but Mrs Vanburgh refused to be comforted, and wandered disconsolately up and down the room, peering out of each of the three windows in succession, and watching the clock with anxious dismay.

"Half-past four, and not one here! What can it mean? Three big Homes I went to, and there must have been at least a score of inmates in each; it isn't possible that nobody will come!"

"In all the length and breadth of this great city, is there not one governess who will take pity upon a hospitable lady!" quoted Cynthia mischievously. It was evident that she also knew the source from which had sprung the inspiration of these Saturday gatherings; but though Nan laughed, it was with a somewhat uncertain sound, and her brown eyes looked suspiciously moist. The two girls were quick to realise that it was not a time for teasing, and hastened to give a safer turn to the conversation.

In truth, Nan's heart was very deeply in her enterprise. Hers was one of those sweet, generous natures which expand, instead of shrivelling under the influence of prosperity. Just in proportion as her own life was beautiful and hedged round with all the sweet fences of love, so did she yearn more and more over her sisters whose lots were cast in such different places—which is the true spirit of Christ, who left the very heavens for our sakes. She had woven many happy dreams about these afternoon meetings, seeing the radiance of her own happiness lighting up dark places, and the power of love and sympathy cheering starved and lonely lives, and was it all to end like this—in a joke for her husband and these two girls? Would Gervase come home, and laugh his tender, happy laugh, and stroke her hair, and call her "Poor little pet!" as if she, and not the missing guests, was the real object of compassion?

Nan blinked the tears from her eyes, but they rose again and again— tears of bitter disappointment; and then, just as the clock was about to strike the quarter, there came another quick whirr of the electric bell, and Cynthia, running out into the hall, came back aglow with excitement.

"It is! It is!" she hissed in an excited whisper. "I saw her. She's coming upstairs. Quick! Quick! To your posts!"

Betty rushed to the fire, Nan stood in the middle of the floor radiant with expectation. The servant threw open the door, and announced in solemn tones—

"Miss Beveridge."

The first governess had arrived!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

MISS BEVERIDGE.

She was small and thin, with a bleached, joyless face, which seemed all of the same dull grey tint. Grey hair, grey eyes, grey complexion, a pinched-in mouth and deeply-furrowed forehead. She was dressed in black—shabby black, which is the shabbiest of all shabbies—and, looking at her, it seemed impossible to believe that there had ever been a time when she was young and happy, and had frisked and frolicked, and liked pretty things like any ordinary girl. Cynthia and Betty felt a chill of dismay, but Nan's heart gave a throb of delight. This was one of the very starved, joyless lives which she longed to brighten; it would have been difficult to find a better type of the class. She walked quickly forward, and held out a warm, welcoming hand.

"How do you do? I am so pleased you have come?"

Miss Beveridge looked at her coldly, then cast an inquiring glance around the room; at the luxurious hangings and furniture, at the glowing fire, at Betty slim and childish in her simple blue frock, at Cynthia with her flowing locks.

"Is—is Mrs Vanburgh not at home?" she inquired, drawing up her thin figure with an air of wounded dignity. "I understood that the hours mentioned were from three to seven, but if she is engaged—"

Nan smiled in the merry, radiant manner which made her look even younger than her years.

"I am Mrs Vanburgh!"

"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Beveridge coldly.

Why she should have taken the announcement as a personal insult the girls could not understand, but that she did receive it in such, a spirit was proved by the sudden stiffening which passed over her features even as she spoke. She seated herself on the edge of the chair to which Nan escorted her, sternly refused an offer of tea, and vouchsafed only monosyllabic replies when spoken to. It was a terrible occasion! Nan took refuge in the resort of the destitute, and exhausted the subject of the weather in all its branches.

"It is a very chilly afternoon."

"Very chilly."

"It seemed in the morning as if it were going to clear up."

"It did."

"The forecast says it will rain before night."

"Indeed!"

"November always is a dreary month."

No reply.

"In London there are so many fogs, but in the country the fallen leaves are almost as depressing."

"Perhaps so."

Nan looked across the room and made a desperate grimace at her companions. Before doing so she made sure that Miss Beveridge was not looking, but she forgot that in turning her head in the opposite direction she was naturally vis-a-vis with Cynthia and Betty, and they—silly things!—simultaneously jerked with surprise, flushed and struggled after speech, thereby hopelessly giving away the situation.

"Er—are you quite sure you will not have a cup of tea? Or—er, coffee? We have both ready. Or a high-tea downstairs, if you care for anything more solid."

"I have had luncheon, thank you. I am not in the least in need of food," replied Miss Beveridge in tones of scathing coldness. There was a ghastly silence.

"Horrid thing! Always did hate 'em!" soliloquised Betty.

"How dare she? Ungrateful wretch!" queried Cynthia.

"She's cross because she's miserable; she's just as miserable as she can be! Somebody else could comfort her, but I can't. She thinks I am a presumptuous chit. Perhaps I am, trying to do work that is far beyond me!" sighed Nan, with a heavy sinking of the heart. She could not attempt to speak, and the silence lasted several minutes, until at last Miss Beveridge roused herself to inquire hesitatingly, yet with a certain suppressed eagerness—

"Were you perhaps wishing to—er—to organise some classes? My time is disengaged on Saturday afternoons. My special subject is music, but I hold very high certificates, and am of course competent to take up other subjects."

Nan gasped with dismay! Here was a situation, to be treated as a schoolgirl whose education required finishing! She could hear Gervase's derisive laughter, the amused chuckle with which he would say, "Silly girl, serve you right!" Across the room Cynthia and Betty were sniggering, and biting their lips. This was indeed a travesty of what she had expected. The blood flamed in her cheeks, but she answered steadily enough—

"Oh no, I was not thinking of anything for myself. It occurred to me that it might be dull in those 'Homes' on holiday afternoons, especially for ladies who are strangers in London, and I hoped it might make a little change for them to come out to tea. It would certainly be a pleasure to me to receive them."

"Indeed!" said Miss Beveridge coldly.

The momentary animation which had flickered in her face at the thought of the possibility of classes died away, leaving her looking even more bleached and hopeless than before. She pressed her thin lips together, looked at the clock, and inquired suddenly—

"Can you tell me the nearest way from here to Maida Vale?"

It was a direct intimation of departure, and Nan accepted it as such, giving the desired information, without protest, it is true, but in a manner absolutely devoid of offence. It was raining heavily by this time, and she would fain have offered to whistle for a hansom, but she felt that such a proceeding would have been interpreted as an additional offence. When the visitor rose, however, she insisted upon accompanying her downstairs, where in the privacy of the vestibule she allowed herself the luxury of a farewell appeal.

"I am so sorry that it has been a failure! You are vexed with me for having brought you here for nothing, and on such a terrible afternoon too, but I meant well! I'm young, and foolish, and don't know how to do things properly, but I couldn't bear to keep everything to myself, and I could think of no better way. You'll forgive me, won't you? I'm so sorry you've been bored!"

Miss Beveridge looked at her swiftly, and as she looked her thin features twitched beneath her veil, and two little patches of colour showed themselves on her cheeks.

"There is nothing to forgive," she said hurriedly. "Nothing on your side, at least. I was taken by surprise and did not quite understand. If you will allow me I will come again another time."

"Will you—will you really? Oh, it would make me so happy!" cried Nan rapturously. "Thank you so much! Next Saturday, perhaps? I shall look forward to it all the week."

She motioned the servant aside, and, accompanying her visitor to the door, insisted upon opening her umbrella and helping to tuck up the well-worn skirt. Her bonnie face shone out under the light as she waved her hand and cried out eagerly, "Come soon! Come soon!" Miss Beveridge shut her lips tightly and did not reply in words, but she did something which was more expressive—she dropped her skirt into the mud on purpose to wave a response! The November evening was dark and cheerless enough to strike a chill to the stoutest heart, but one solitary woman walked through it with a new glow at her heart. The warm light streaming out into the darkness, the sweet welcoming voice, were as meat and drink to her starved soul.

In the drawing-room the girls awaited Nan's return with some anxiety, but, to their amazement, she came bounding upstairs two steps at a time, all abeam with complacent delight. What a comfort it was that she had so soon returned to her senses!

"Has she gone? Really gone! What a relief!"

"She's coming again! She said she would. Thank goodness for that!"

"Mrs Vanburgh, you—you can't mean it! She was a horror! You can't possibly want to see her again! She was as cross as two sticks because she had come once, so why should she try it a second time?"

"She didn't understand, and it was a shock to find us all so young. Yes, of course I want her! She's just the sort I do want; the happy, prosperous ones have no need of me. Oh, did you see her poor grey face?"

Betty shivered dramatically.

"I did! It made me think of vinegar and, lemon-juice, and all the sour things you can think of mixed together. Her lips were so thin you could hardly see them at all, and they turned right down at the corners."

"She was pretty once, prettier than any of us—her features are perfect still. She's worried, and ill, and badly dressed. Did you see her blouse?"

"Yes!" Betty sighed sententiously. "It was such a comfort to me. I'd been feeling so grumpy because my own was horrid compared to yours, but when I saw that grey flannel atrocity I felt I ought to be thankful instead?"

Nan laughed happily.

"Then she did you good too? That's all right. Girls, I'm hungry. This has been a most exhausting afternoon. I don't think there is a chance of anyone else coming, so hadn't we better go downstairs and eat up some of the good things ourselves? How do you feel?"

There was no doubt about the girls' feelings. They might have been starving, from the alacrity with which they sprang from their seats, followed their hostess downstairs, and seated themselves at the dining- table.

"We will not wait any longer, Johnson. Bring in fresh tea and coffee, and then you can leave us. We will attend to ourselves," said Nan to the solemn-faced butler; and, as soon as he had departed, "Isn't it just wonderful how servants contrive to keep their faces straight?" she cried laughingly. "I've no doubt they are all laughing themselves ill downstairs at the collapse of my great 'At Home,' but Johnson looks as if it were the most correct thing in the world for three people to sit down to a table laid for a dozen! I'll carve, and you can pour out. Now for the chicken and ham—now for the gay Sally Lunn! Eat, my darlings, eat! Do without dinner for one night, and save a friend's reputation! I shall never hear the last of it from Gervase, unless I can tell him that some of the things were used."

It was a merry meal, and lasted for an inordinately long time, and when it was over the three girls felt that their mutual acquaintance had progressed by giant strides.

Cynthia went home to give a graphic description of Betty's charms, and to cry—

"You must, you really must, call upon Mrs Trevor, mother, for I can't be happy till I know the whole family."

Betty burst into the dining-room in a flutter of excitement, exclaiming all in a breath—

"She's a darling, a perfect darling; and the Pet was there, and her name is Cynthia, and she's not pampered a bit. We are awfully good friends; and what do you think?—only one governess turned up, and there are heaps and heaps of cakes left. And may Jill and Pam go to tea on Monday to eat them up?"

As for Nan, she laid her pretty head on her husband's shoulder, and refused to be comforted.

"No, it was not a failure! I'm not disappointed a bit. I was silly, and expected too much, but the one who came—oh, Gervase, she was the very incarnation of homelessness. If she will let me help her, I shall be quite, quite satisfied?"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

LETTERS.

Christmas approached. Cynthia drove from one big shop to another, accompanied by mother or governess, and selected costly remembrances for her friends, Betty Trevor among the rest, for Mrs Alliot had at last been induced to call on the doctor's wife, and so formally sanction the girls' friendship. Nan Vanburgh crossed out every day as it passed on the calendar, and danced for joy at the thought of going "home" for the festival.

"It's rather rough on me. I flattered myself that I was sufficient for your happiness," her husband told her, "and—"

"So you are, you darling!" Nan assured him gushingly. "I don't want anyone else in the world but just you, and father, and mother, and Jim, and the girls, and Kitty, and Ned, and your old uncle, and Maud's baby— and—"

"And Cynthia Alliot, and this newly-discovered family at Number 14, and twenty governesses rolled into one as exemplified by Miss Beveridge, and a few score of friends scattered up and down the country! What it is to have married a little soul with a big heart!" cried Gervase, shrugging his shoulders with an air of martyrdom, though, as a matter of fact, he was well satisfied with his place in his wife's affection, and loved her all the more for remaining faithful to old claims.

As for Betty Trevor, she shivered up in her attic bedroom, putting in last stitches to the presents which had been manufactured at the cost of much trouble and self-denial. The table-centre for mother had cost only one and threepence, but looked every bit as nice as those displayed in the shop-windows for six and nine. The shield of white wadded satin seemed an ideal protector for a dress shirt, and if father did not use it as such when he went out in the evening, it would be his fault, not hers! The blotters for Miles and Jack, the work and shoe bags for the girls, to say nothing of endless odds and ends for cousins and aunts, made quite a brave show when she laid them all out on the bed preparatory to wrapping them up in paper. Jill was invited to the private view, her own present being discreetly hidden away for the occasion, and expressed an admiration tempered by pity.

"Such a fag!" she declared. "Look at me, I've done the whole thing in one afternoon! Sallied out with my savings in my purse—two shillings pocket-money, one and three for waking Miles in the morning, sixpence from mother—reward of merit for not biting my nails for a week— ninepence from Norah for my pink silk tie (it cost half-a-crown, and I hated the old thing), four and sixpence altogether—and I got fifteen really handsome presents."

"Jill, you haven't! It isn't possible!"

"It is then; it only needs management. I've kept all the chocolate boxes we have had given to us by grateful patients during the year—six of them—and they look ripping filled with sweets at sixpence a pound. I collected mother's old scent-bottles too, with cut-glass stoppers, and bought a shilling's worth of eau-de-Cologne to fill them. Such a joke! It didn't quite go round, so I put some water in the last, and it's turned quite milky. I'll have to give that to Pam. She'll think it something new and superior. I've got sticking—plaster for the boys— they are sure to cut their fingers some day—and a beautiful needle-book for mother—ninepence halfpenny—and it looks worth it, every penny. Oh, I say, while I remember, I don't mind lending you my snow-shoes, but you might take the trouble to put them back when you've done with them! I wanted them badly this morning."

"I haven't got your old snow-shoes. I don't know what has come to this house. Everyone is accusing me of stealing! Mother was on the rampage about her gloves this morning, and father's old smoking-jacket is missing. Mother says it's a good thing, for it was disgracefully shabby, but he loved it because it was so comfy, and we had such a fuss searching all over the house. Christmas seems to put everything out of gear."

"Oh, well, it's worth it! Think of the presents!" cried Jill gleefully. She skipped downstairs, and, sitting down before the writing-table in the drawing-room, pulled out a number of sheets of her mother's writing- paper, on which she proceeded to indite a number of epistles, in which words and spaces were curiously mingled.

"Dear Aunt Margaret,—Thank you so much for the beautiful ... It is just what I wanted. It was so nice of you to send it to me. I think it is ... I hope you are quite well, and not having asthma any more,—Your loving niece,—

"Margaret."

"Darling Cousin Flo,—I am so awfully obliged to you for the lovely ... It is just what I wanted. I am so pleased to have it. It will just do for ... I think Christmas is ripping, don't you? Please write soon to Jill."

"Dear Mrs Gregory,—It is most kind of you to remember me with such a nice present. The ... is just what I wanted. I am much obliged to you for remembering me. Has not Christmas Day been ... this year?—I am your loving little friend, Margaret Meredith Trevor."

"My own dear, darling Norah,—What an angel you are to send me that perfectly ripping ... It is just exactly what I wanted, and I am so proud to have it. Come round to-morrow and see my things. I've got ... altogether. Isn't that a lot? Don't you call this weather ...?— Your own Jill."

She was scribbling away—the table littered with the finished productions—when a hand fell on her shoulder and a stentorian voice cried—

"Eh, what? Too busy to hear me come in, were you? What's the meaning of this sudden industry?" and, starting up, she beheld the red, parrot- like visage of General Digby bending over her. This was not by any means the first visit which the General had paid in return for the "kind enquiries." He was a lonely old man, and to spend a few minutes in the cheery atmosphere of a family made a pleasant break in his daily constitutional. Mrs Trevor was always pleased to welcome him, but as she was aware that it was not herself but the children who were the attraction, she did not hurry downstairs on occasions like the present.

"Writing Christmas letters, eh?" boomed the General loudly. "Sending off your presents, I suppose. Eh, what? Thanking people for presents, do you say? That's a bit previous, isn't it? What's the hurry?"

"Oh, there's always so much going on after Christmas, when the boys are at home, and it's such a bore sticking in the house writing letters. I use up the odd times before, in getting them as ready as I can, and then it only takes a minute to fill in the spaces."

She held out a specimen letter as she spoke, and, looking at it, General Digby went off into such a convulsion of laughter, coughing, and panting for breath, that he presented a truly alarming spectacle. The protuberant eyes protruded farther and farther, the tuft of grey hair seemed to rear itself more stiffly erect, his cheeks changed from red to purple. It was not a time for ceremony, and Jill promptly pounded him on the back until he recovered himself sufficiently to shake her off, declaring forcibly that the cure was worse than the disease. Then he subsided into a chair, and wiped his eyes elaborately with a bandana handkerchief.

"Where's my letter?" he inquired. "I suppose there's one addressed to me among all that number. Was I as fortunate as the rest in sending just what was wanted? You are a young woman of a great many wants, it seems to me. Tell you what now: I'll strike a bargain! Fill up the blanks, and I'll see if I can come up to expectation! Eh, what?"

"Oh no!" cried Jill, blushing with an embarrassment which yet had in it a fearful joy, for who would have thought that such a new friend would enrol himself in the blessed ranks of present-givers? "There is no letter for you. I truly never thought you would give us anything," she explained hesitatingly. "I couldn't possibly choose myself. It's awfully good of you to think of it, but, really, anything—It's like this, you see; I want everything I can get!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" cried the General, beginning to shake again in the old, alarming, jelly-like fashion. "Nothing like honesty in this world, my dear. Well, well, we must see what we can do! I'll bend my great mind to the question, and you shall know the result on Christmas Day."

Jill smiled uncertainly. Already she was beginning to repent her modesty. Suppose she had taken her courage into her hands, and had said boldly, "A gold watch," could it possibly have been true that the ambition of a lifetime would have been gratified, as by the stroke of a magician's wand? Really and truly the General had tumbled (literally tumbled) into their lives in the most unexpected fashion, and to begin talking of presents upon an acquaintance of a month's standing proved him to be something far superior to ordinary mortals. Jill made up her mind to change the nickname of Victim for that of Magician from this time forward.

Presently Betty appeared, a pensive, melancholy Betty, chilly about the fingers, and nippy about the nose, much oppressed by the feeling that she worked while others played, and had no thanks for her pains, and was altogether too good for a world in which her excellencies were unappreciated. As usual, her hair was dressed in accordance with her mood, a brush dipped in water having been employed to flatten out the curls which had been painfully achieved a few hours before.

The General looked at the dismal little figure with a twinkling eye. Already he had been introduced to three separate Betty Trevors, and it would be interesting to ascertain which of the various representations approached nearest to the reality. Judging from Miss Betty's conversation this afternoon, Christmas would appear to be her bete noire throughout the year, and she could see no bright spot in the horizon. The presents which she had prepared were all failures; unlike Jill, she wanted nothing in return; it was dull having "no one but ourselves" in the house on the great day, while, on the other hand, it would be horrid to have strangers. Mrs Vanburgh had gone off home to enjoy herself, and had left the "Govies" in the charge of herself and Cynthia Alliot to "cheer up and entertain," and how could they do it, pray, a couple of girls like themselves? She scowled quite fiercely at the General as she put the question, but he only chuckled in reply, having already been treated to the history of Nan's first 'At Home' from the lips of an historian more sceptical than sympathetic.

"Aha! Those governesses! How many may they be? Do you still entertain the few to conversation, and yourselves to the good things provided for the many?" he cried teasingly, whereupon Betty assumed what she conceived to be an air of haughty reproach, and replied coldly—

"We had four at our last reception. They all want to come again, and were most agreeable. Two of them have gone home for the holidays, but the others have no homes to go to. They are the ones we have to entertain, and it's silly, because they are so tired of girls that we are the last people they wish to see. Mrs Vanburgh is different—she's married, and is more interesting. Mother says she's sorry, but there are a dozen poor ladies who have a greater claim on us—father's patients, and so on—and what can I do by myself?" She sighed, and raised her eyes in a meek, resigned fashion to the cornet of the ceiling. "It's not for want of will, or want of thought I lay awake for quite half an hour worrying about it one night!"

"Send them a Christmas card, and be done with it," cried Jill callously. "You can get beauties for a halfpenny at the little sweet shop round the corner. I'll sell you one I bought yesterday. Convolvulus, and 'May all your hours be filled with joy.' Just the thing you want!"

Betty's lip curled in disdain.

"So appropriate, isn't it? So likely to be true!"

"All the more reason to wish for it," maintained Jill pertly. "What's the good of wishing if you don't wish something nice? You don't want to take for granted that she is going on mumping and grumping all next year. Something nice might happen to her, as well as to anyone else."

"Quite right, quite right! Always expect the best, and prepare for the worst," cried the General heartily. "Now, I've a suggestion to make! There's a big concert advertised to take place in the Albert Hall on the afternoon of Boxing Day. Some friends of mine who are wandering abroad have a box there which is at my disposal when I choose to use it. I'm not going with you, mind—none of your governesses for me!—but I'll give you the tickets, and you can make up a happy party, and get rid of some of your responsibilities, at least. How does that idea strike you, Miss Betty—eh, what?"

"Oh, I—I love it! You are sweet!" gushed Betty fervently. A box! The Albert Hall! Herself the head of the party, the gracious dispenser of favours—it was almost too ecstatic to be believed! "The two governesses, Cynthia and myself, Miles, because he loves music, and we want someone to bring us home, and father, if he has time, for Miles won't come if he is the only male. That would be a delightful party!" she decided. There were points, after all, about being left "in charge?"



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.

The Trevors' programme on Christmas Day differed from those of their friends, and possessed in their opinion many striking advantages. No presents were given in the morning; it was enough excitement to know that it was Christmas Day, and to linger over a late and luxurious breakfast before going to church. There was something particularly inspiring about the moment when the great congregation rose in the ivy- decked church and burst into song—

"Hark, the herald angels sing, Glory to the new-born King!"

Even Jill had a fleeting realisation that the true meaning of Christmas was something quite apart from presents, and turkey, and plum-puddings, while Betty's thoughts flew back to the day of her confirmation, and she vowed herself anew to the service of the King. Jack sang the well-known words with a new attention—"Christ the everlasting Lord;" this was the same Christ who was General Digby's "Captain." "I am here to obey my Captain's orders,"—the words rang in his ears, and he saw once more the wonderful softening of the fierce old face. Miles did not sing at all; his voice was still hoarse and broken, and his set expression gave little clue to his feelings, but Pam's treble was clear and sweet, and her little face shone with innocent fervour.

After church came a walk through the—well! It should have been "the crisp cold air," but unfortunately the weather showed no sense of propriety, and in reality it was as dank and cheerless a day as even London itself can produce in mid-winter. As the advance guard in the shape of Miles and Betty neared their own doorway, a dainty figure ran down the steps, and there was Cynthia Alliot, blooming like a delicate pink rose in the midst of the fog.

"You!" cried Betty in surprise, and then awkwardly attempted the difficult task of introduction. "Er—this is my brother Miles! Miles— this is—"

"The Pampered Pet!" interrupted Cynthia, laughing. Miles knit his brows in the fashion he had when ill at ease, and mumbled an unintelligible greeting, but Cynthia was not in the least embarrassed. She smiled at him as frankly as if he had been another Betty, yet with a little air of gracious dignity which is rarely found in girls of her age. She was quite simple and unaffected, but one could never imagine her taking part in the free-and-easy, slangy, unchivalrous intercourse which so often prevails nowadays between girls and boys. She held herself like a Queen, and silent Miles looked at her, and in the depths of his honest heart vowed himself to her service.

"What did you call for?" Betty queried. "Did you want to see me? Was it about to-morrow? We are going to call for you at half-past two. We can walk, I suppose, unless it is wet?"

"Oh yes, it will be far nicer. I do hope it will be fine. This is not at all a cheerful Christmas, is it? Good-bye! I do hope you'll have a lovely time!" returned Cynthia, waving her hand and crossing the road towards her own doorway. It was too late to remind her that she had not answered the last question, and the first sight of the hall table banished every other thought, for on it lay the pile of Christmas cards whose advent had been so eagerly expected. Betty seized the bundle and began doling them out, while her brothers and sisters clustered round, and clamoured for their share.

"Miss Trevor—Miss Trevor—Miss Trevor—(Betty, it's not fair, you are taking them all!) Miss Jill Trevor, Miss JM Trevor, Mrs Trevor, James Trevor, Esquire, MD—(Looks like a bill! How mean to send a bill on Christmas day!) Miss Trevor, Miss Pamela Trevor," so it went on, the major share falling to the three girls, the boys coming in only for an occasional missive from an aunt or some such kindly relation, who suddenly awoke to the fact of their existence at Christmas time. When the cards were dealt out there still remained a little pile of envelopes which had apparently been delivered by hand, as no stamps appeared beside the addresses. Betty pounced on them, and gave a shout of delight.

"There's money inside! There is, I can feel it. Mine's quite small— like a—a—" She dropped the remaining envelopes to open her own in a flutter of excitement. Inside there was a folded piece of paper enclosing a second envelope—one of those tiny, dainty affairs in which some old-fashioned tradesmen still deliver change to their customers. In her haste Betty ripped it open, and held up to view a brand new sovereign.

"It is! It is! How s-imply lovely! I was so hard up—and now! What perfect angel can have sent it?"

She picked up the piece of paper which she had dropped in her haste, and read aloud, "With the best wishes of Terence Digby," the while her brothers and sisters made short work of their own envelopes. Jack and Jill had each a new ten-shilling piece, and Pam a magnificent silver crown, the size of which delighted her even more than the value.

"He said he would send me something, but I never thought it would be money. It's what I like better than anything else, to be rich in the Christmas holidays!" Jill cried rapturously, and Mrs Trevor smiled and said—

"So he seemed to think. He asked my permission before sending his presents in this form, and said he would like to give you money, because when he was a boy an old lady used to send new coins to himself and his brothers every Christmas in these same little envelopes, and he had never forgotten the pleasure they gave him. Yes! You will feel rich, but don't be in too great a hurry to spend your fortunes, for the General may wish to speak to you on that point."

Jill shrugged her shoulders disgustedly.

"Bother! I hope he won't want us to spend it sensibly! That would take away all the fun. I want to keep it in my purse, and fritter it away just as I like. What's the good of giving presents, and not letting you use them as you like?"

"Well, well, what's the use of grumbling before you know if there is anything to grumble about?" returned Mrs Trevor, laughing. She moved away, carrying her bundle of letters, and the children followed her example, and spent a happy half-hour examining, displaying, and comparing cards and calendars.

Then came lunch, a glorified lunch with "party" sweets, and dessert, finishing up with a big dish of chestnuts to roast over the fire. The doctor was at home for the afternoon, having made the round of his serious patients in the morning (abominably selfish of anyone to be ill on Christmas Day!), and that fact alone gave a festivity to the afternoon tea, while ever in the background lurked the delightful anticipation of presents—presents to come!

Other people had done with all their excitement before now, and had even grown accustomed to their new possessions, but Betty and Jill donned last year's party dresses for dinner in a flutter of anticipation, and then hurried downstairs, each with an armful of parcels to add to the store which had been accumulating in the library all day long.

The sofa was full of them—neat brown—paper parcels, bulky parcels, shapeless parcels, tissue-paper parcels, large and small, dainty and the reverse, boxes, envelopes, and a mysterious pyramid covered with a sheet, over which Pam mounted jealous guard. Betty had just time to arrange the parcels on two large trays, and see the larger articles conveyed into the dining-room and hidden behind a screen, before the gong rang, and dinner began.

There was the orthodox turkey and roast beef, plum-pudding and mince- pies, but when dessert was over there came a moment of thrilling excitement, as the servants placed one heaped trayful of presents on the table before Dr Trevor, and another at the bottom before his wife. The long-looked-for moment had come at last!

Well, it was a pleasant sight to see the twinkle in the doctor's tired eyes as he looked round the table at his five children, and exchanged a smile of comradeship with his pretty wife. His long delicate hand, the true doctor's hand, lifted the topmost parcel from the tray, and held it aloft while he read aloud the laborious inscription—"'To Miles, hopping he will like it, from Pam.' Here you are, Miles!" and down the table it went, from one eager pair of hands to another, while Pam blushed a vivid red, and wriggled bashfully on her chair.

There were a great many wrappings, and the dimensions of the parcel diminished so rapidly as to excuse serious fears that it contained nothing more substantial than a joke, but such an idea was an insult to Pam's generosity. She had bestowed much thought on the choice of this special present, and could not in the least understand the roar of laughter which rose from every side as the last paper fell away to disclose a magnificent sixpenny tooth-brush in all its creamy splendour.

Miles' face was a study as he gazed upon it, and turned it speculatively to and fro.

"Anything personal meant, Pam?" he inquired, and, "Yes, please, Miles!" replied innocent Pam, and blushed again to the verge of tears at the second shout of merriment.

"It's a very useful present, dear," Mrs Trevor said consolingly, and hastened to give the conversation a turn by doling out another parcel from her own tray.

"'Betty, with love from Jill.'"

It was a very small parcel, and Betty looked at it with suspicion, remembering the sticking-plaster and watered eau de Cologne, but things turned out better than she expected, the enclosure being quite a pretty hat-pin, of a colour to match her best hat.

"Just what I wanted!" was both the true and the gracious manner of acknowledging this trophy, as also the book from Jack, and the gloves from Miles, which presently fell to her share. Then it was the doctor's turn, his wife having retired behind the screen to bring forth an enormous parcel, which could only be laid on a chair by his side, since it was far too big to place on the table itself.

"For me? Why, what can this be? It feels like a blanket!" he cried in astonishment, and his face was a picture of mingled surprise, pleasure, and consternation, as a handsome fur-lined carriage rug was presently revealed to view. "Oh, this is too much! This won't do! Edith, what reckless extravagance!"

"Not extravagance at all," his wife answered sturdily. "You must be kept warm, driving about from morning till night. It is nothing less than a necessity which you ought to have had years ago. Besides, it's not my gift alone—it's a joint affair. The children all contributed— it's from all six of us, with our best love to you, dearest."

"I gave threepence," announced Pam proudly, thereby bringing a smile to her father's face, though his voice had a suspicious quiver in it as he said—

"Thank you, my six darlings!" and smoothed the rug with a loving touch. Its presence would keep not only his body but his heart warm on many a wintry day to come.

After this, the parcel-opening went on fast and furious. Pam received a young lady doll, and had barely recovered from the rapture of her arrival when, presto! There appeared a miniature travelling-box, covered with leather, provided with straps, and a white PT painted at the sides, just like a real true grown-up box! And inside—a veritable trousseau! The work of loving mother hands on many a winter evening—a blue serge coat and skirt, a party frock of pale pink silk, a long white cloak; a straw hat for ordinary wear, and—could you believe it?—a toque, boa, and muff of real fur, just like that old muff of mother's that she wore before the new one arrived. Beneath these treasures a supply of under garments, including a dear little flannel dressing- jacket, and bedroom slippers to match. Never, no, never since the creation of the world did a little girl of eight years receive a more all-satisfying and delightful offering! In her parents' eyes at least, Pam's little face, aglow with innocent rapture, was the most beautiful sight of that happy Christmas Day.

Jack had a book from his father, a knitted tie from Betty, skates from his mother—oh, for a good hard frost!—some cast-off tools from Miles, and a packet of black sticking-plaster from Jill. He grinned broadly over this last offering, and while the parcel-opening went on on both sides fumbled mysteriously beneath the tablecloth. Five minutes later, as he joined the others in a burst of laughter, his mother started violently, and cried, "Jack! What has happened!" in a tone of dismay which brought every eye upon him. Freckled nose, twinkling eyes, outstanding ears—no change to be seen in these well-known features, but the teeth—the teeth! Between lips extended in broadest of smiles appeared horrible, isolated tusks standing out conspicuously from the black gaps on either side. What in the name of all that was mysterious and perplexing had happened to those rows of sound regular ivories which had been his chief beauty five minutes before? And what an alteration in his whole appearance! Extraordinary to think of the change which was effected by the loss of half a dozen little teeth!

After the first start of surprise, understanding dawned quickly enough. Jill's present had been short-lived, but it had served its purpose, both in her eyes and Jack's, in causing the sensation of the evening, and the mother's pitiful, "Take them off, Jack dear, do! You look so dreadful!" could not persuade Jack to peel off the disfiguring black squares. It was too dear a triumph to a schoolboy's heart to create shudders of disgust every time he opened his mouth!

The pile of presents on the trays waxed rapidly less and less, the last parcel of all being of exceptional daintiness,—tissue-paper, tied round with a narrow blue ribbon. It was addressed to Betty, and to her rapturous surprise contained a line of congratulation from Cynthia Alliot, and the exact duplicate of an artistic silver and enamel buckle which she had admired on her friend's belt a few days before. She was so entirely occupied crooning over this treasure, that she did not notice that Pam had suddenly slipped from her chair and pushed the screen aside, leaving the tall draped mystery fully exposed to view.

"It's my present," she explained proudly. "For mother. Just what she wanted! Cook hid it for me, and covered it with these clothes." She stood on tiptoe as she spoke, taking out the pins which held the coverings together. They fell to the ground, and revealed a handsome branching palm, standing four or five feet from the ground. Mrs Trevor uttered an exclamation of incredulous surprise, and indeed every face round the table expressed the same sentiment, for the plant was obviously expensive, and how in the world could Pam have purchased it out of an income of a penny a week?