THE YOUNG O'BRIENS (continued 4)

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! À 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, Fräulein! 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? Fräulein, 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."

"But—"

"Away! We stand no 'buts' in our family. Once a ram was slain for butting, you know, Sarah," observed Denis, absurdly.

"You're just wasting your time and you might be with your sweetheart, Sarah!" put in the Atom, practically.

Scarlet-faced, Sarah fled.

Nell pursued her.

"Sarah, you are not to return before ten o'clock to-night."

"Oh, if you'll hexcuse me, miss, I must—there's 'Err Smitt's dinner!"

"What were you going to give him, Sarah?"

"A steak with boiled potaters and a cauliflower, and a jam tart," said Sarah, dejectedly.

"All of which I can manage," said Nell. "He has coffee after it, doesn't he?"

"And who'll answer the door, miss?"

"Any of us. Now go and get ready, Sarah."

After clearing away Herr Schmidt's breakfast Sarah took her departure with many injunctions: "Leave the dirty plates and things for me, miss, and would you please tell the baker to shut the gate after 'im, as mistress do object so to it being left open, and 'e always forgets—"

She went at last, joyful but full of anxiety.

Denis had gone off to the bank.

"Now," said Nell, "I'm going to concoct a dream of a lunch! Chicken—oysters—jellies—such sweets! And we'll get hold of Ted, somehow—he must be here!"

He was there. They had the luncheon in the kitchen. "It saves carrying things into the dining room," said Nell, but it was more for the fun of it than anything else. It was a very successful lunch, and the cook received quite an ovation. When the meal was over, she observed:—

"I do hate to give a person a holiday and then make her do her work when she comes home."

Ted looked at her inquiringly.

Denis gazed at the ceiling.

"I do," reiterated Nell, severely.

"Of course," said Ted, vaguely.

"Careful, old man! Any statement you make now will be used against you. Nell's pathetic observation, translated into cold English, means that we've got to wash up."

"I will!" cried Sheila Pat.

Denis looked at her enviously.

"What it is to be young and energetic!"

"I'll do it," said Ted.

"Leave it to us," sighed Denis.

"Oh, indeed," she laughed. "I wonder how many plates Aunt Kezia would have left by the time you'd done?"

Denis looked at Ted with an injured expression.

"That's how I'm thrated in the bosom of me family, Lancaster! But we'll heap coals of fire upon her ungrateful pate, and won't let her soil her nasty little hands."

"We will—we won't."

The Atom carried the last plate into the scullery.

Nell tilted her chin, and held out her hands.

"Indeed, then, I will wash up. These hands were made for work, and not for play! Edward, what are you doing?"

"Trying to see them," peering close. "I see them! So they were made for work?"

"That grin does not become your naturally saturnine countenance, Edward. I wouldn't think of intrusting Aunt Kezia's china to two great clumsy boys."

Denis looked at Ted, then strolled towards the scullery.

"I say, O.B.," said Ted, and followed him in a casual sort of way. The next minute the door between scullery and kitchen was banged to, Denis turned the key in the lock, and he and Ted stood grinning through the upper part of the door, which was made of glass. Nell sprang forward, but was too late. Then suddenly a twinkle crept into her eyes.

"You watch!" she adjured Molly. "I wish the Atom would finish giving her Pearl his dinner!"

The two boys took off their coats, rolled up their sleeves. Denis hauled down a big sauce-pan from a shelf.

"Dirty boy!" cried Nell, through the door. "Things are cooked in that!"

Ted proudly brought forward a bowl for mixing the ingredients of cakes and puddings.

"It's for cakes! Put it away!"

They found the right bowl at last.

Nell's dimples deepened.

Denis took the pan to the sink, stopped short, and looked at Ted.

"No hot water!" they heard him say. "Tap's gone wrong!"

"Won't cold do?" queried Ted, innocently.

"Suppose so."

"Oh," cried Nell, clutching Molly ecstatically, "you wait and see the grease!"

They filled the bowl, then seized plates, big, little indiscriminately, and plunged them into the water.

"Oh, they'll make the pudding plates as greasy as the others. And they haven't thought of the dish-cloth."

Denis took a meat plate and bobbed it up and down in the water. The grease refused to come off. He bobbed energetically, and whistled "Widow Malone" airily.

Then Ted bent forward and heroically put forth a finger and rubbed. He made a long smear, and that was all.

We studied his finger disgustedly. Nell tripped across to he fireplace, lifted the steaming kettle, and carried it to the scullery door.

Ted was valiantly rubbing now with two fingers.

"Denis! Ted!"

They saw a pompous, steaming kettle, hot, inviting.

"Hand it over!" said Denis, advancing. "But promise not to come in!"

"I suppose you don't think you need me?"

"Most assuredly we don't. Do we, Ted?"

"N-no."

"I won't promise."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"As you will, my dear. Cold water's a lot fresher, anyway," and he seized a plate with a savage shake. Ted put up his hand and ruefully rubbed his head. Nell nearly dropped the kettle in her glee. He had used his greasy hand, and his smooth hair stuck up in front in three jaunty wisps. Denis turned and seized a tray-cloth, lying neatly folded on the table, and dabbed it into the water.

"Oh, you dirty boy!" She pommelled excitedly on the door, but was presented with two dignified backs, the dignity of Ted marred a good deal by his airy locks, of which he was blissfully unconscious. She watched the horrid smears they were chasing round the plates with the poor little tray-cloth, and succumbed suddenly.

"You may have the hot water! Oh, yes, unconditionally!"

Truth to tell, she hated the idea of washing the greasy plates, and was glad to get out of it so easily.

"Mayn't I just come in to show you how to set about it?" she queried sweetly.

"We don't need showing, once we've got the hot water, do we, Ted?"

"N-n-no," said Ted.

Of course Denis burnt himself, but nothing was broken. Nell called directions through the door, and the washing up was finished at last. When Ted emerged into the kitchen, carrying some plates, she accosted him demurely:—

"Have you really finished? I want Denis to go down into the cellar and fill the coal-box."

"I will," he said, seizing on the scuttle.

"No, really, Ted—it's horrid to let you do things—"

"It's ripping, Nell!" he declared with an earnestness that somehow sent her thoughts longingly to Kilbrannan—to have him there!

He paused in the doorway, coal-box in hand.

"What's wrong, Nell?" he asked uneasily.

"Wrong? Nothing. Why?"

"You—you looked—sort of—" he stammered, and fled.

She stood a minute looking thoughtfully into the fire. A loud and prolonged rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat on the front door sent her flying into the scullery.

Denis was putting on his coat.

"Royalty at the front door, Denis! You so! Hurry up!"

Denis went to the door. No one was on the doorstep, but a tall footman stood at the gate, holding it back for two white cloth and fur visions to enter.

"By Jove! Ted's relations!"

His hospitable instinct prompted him to greet them as genially as he could. He cast a whimsical glance at their hats pondering on the relative size of them and the hall.

"How-do-you-do? Is our cousin Ted here?"

The hats sailed successfully into the hall, and then stopped abruptly with a little jerk and flutter of chiffon, feathers, and velvet. For before them stood an Object—a dirty Object in smeared shirt-sleeves, with a black smudge across one brazen cheek, and hair sticking up in three jaunty wisps over a coal-dust speckled brow. Moreover, the Object—the Dirty Object—was carrying a very full coal scuttle, swinging it gently to and fro, rather as if he were enjoying the situation and found it funny. And it was their cousin! It was Edward Lancaster!

"Sorry I can't shake hands." He held forth his free hand, unabashed, and it was very black.

"Come in here, will you?" Denis flung open the door of the drawing-room.

Ted deposited the coal scuttle in the hall and followed them. Then coldly came Miss Lancaster's voice:—

"Are you acting charades or what?"

"Neither," said Ted, "work—real, honest work, you know. Have you come to fetch me?"

"Yes. Your father wants you. He's starting for South Africa to-night."

"All right. I'll put on my coat."

Nell came in, very pink, very demure. The response to her greeting was very cold. She turned to Ted.

"I see you've filled the coal-box. Thanks so much."

"Governor wants me." Ted's face had grown grim, frowning.

"We suggested he might be with his Irish friends," pursued Alicia, with a nasty little emphasis on the two last words, "and as we were just starting for a drive, we offered to—er—"

"Look for Ted?" finished Nell.

"Er—Ted?" Alicia said.

"That's me," explained Ted, gravely.

"If," said Alicia, "you can spare our cousin now, we should like to drive him back."

Nell turned to him.

"Hurry up, Teddie!"

"Let me see," observed Denis, thoughtfully, "can we spare him yet? He's washed up—and filled the coal-box. There're the boots to clean, old man, but if your pater wants you, you'll have to go!"

"How kind of you!" sneered Alicia, angrily.

"I shall have to go, Nell," Ted said; "my father's off to-night to South Africa."

"Oh, hurry, then! Denis, take him to your room."

"There's the scullery sink. I saw a bit of saffron-hued soap there, and a beautiful brush in a pail. Come on, old chap."

Ted glanced frowningly at Nell and then at Denis.

"Don't you come. I can find it."

Denis nodded.

"All right."

Ted left the room.

"What a good thing you thought of coming here for him," observed Nell, politely.

"Yes."

"Mrs. Lancaster's well, I hope?" said Denis, cheerfully.

"Yes, thank you."

Nell dared not meet his eye. She bit her lip in terror she would begin to laugh.

"Is it the custom in Ireland to use one's friends as one's servants?" inquired Alicia.

"Oh, yes, invariable custom," he responded. "It's a good idea—does away with the servant problem, you see. When you invite people to dinner, the husbands go off to shoot pheasants, and the wives come in to help cook 'em. When dinner's over they all help wash up; Ted's new to it yet, but he's getting on!"

"We'll soon be able to give Sarah a week's holiday, and have him in every day," annotated Nell.

"Oh, have you a servant?" said Alicia, and Nell's eyes lit with contempt of her petty ill-breeding.

"Well, I wouldn't like to call her that," pondered Denis, thoughtfully, "servantette would be better."

"Will you have some tea?" Nell asked. "I won't be a minute getting it."

"No, thank you."

Ted came in, immaculate in long fawn coat.

"Coming?" he said curtly.

They rose, bowed coldly to Nell, and rustled from the room, accompanied by Denis. Ted stood a moment, hesitating. Nell held out her hand.

"Good-bye, Ted."

"Good-bye."

He turned and strode from the room.

"Come early to-morrow!" she called, following him.

"Say, Lancaster, you might have given these steps a rub if you'd been able to stay," came Denis's musical voice.

And Nell ran back into the drawing-room, subsided into a chair, and laughed.

Denis came back fairly shouting.

"Oh, aren't they rich? Their faces!—I feel quite exhausted—have I swelled with compressed laughter, Nell? Let's open the windows! I can't stand that scent."

She sat up, wiping her eyes.

"I think it's horrid to laugh! Poor Ted!"

"Hard lines for him. Sarah's more refined than they are."

"I'm afraid he felt awfully bad, Denis. He looked so horribly grim. I'm worried about him."

"That's why you're weeping!"

She began to smile again.

"I can't help it. They were so horribly, rudely funny! Poor old Ted."

CHAPTER XXIII

"I was thinking, miss," said Sarah, "as 'ow the bit of beef would 'ash nicely."

"Beef bone, you mean, Sarah?"

Sarah looked uncomfortable; she picked up a corner of her apron and pleated it uneasily.

"Well, you see, miss, we've been using up a lot of things lately—"

Nell laughed lightly.

"Sarah, are you telling me I eat too much?"

"No, miss." Sarah sighed, hesitated. "But it do run away with things 'aving folks to meals!" she blurted out. "Oh, miss, I beg your parding!" she gasped, aghast at the change in Nell's face.

"We will have the beef bone for lunch, with potatoes and bread!" said Nell, tragically, and marched upstairs to the Stronghold, where Denis was mending a shelf before rushing off to the bank.

"Denis,"—her soft voice rushed it all out in wild indignation,—"we have been insulted! We're not to invite Ted here to meals any more! Nor anyone else! We're to bundle them off without letting them eat or drink beneath this hateful, mean, petty little roof! That's what it has come to now!"

"By Jove, Nell! what's it all mean?"

"It means that we've been using up too much of Aunt Kezia's money! The accounts were to run till she came back, whatever that means! But this morning Sarah warned me—me!—that having folks to meals do run away with things so!" She ended with a shaky little laugh.

"That all? What on earth does it matter what a well-meaning but silly little hap'orth says?"

"But—Denis—it isn't our money, you see!"

He banged a nail into the shelf. "I may be a thief, but I'll never turn my friends away, Nell O'Brien!"

She laughed gaily. "I know! I'll make Sarah tell me the exact amount Aunt Kezia spends in a week, and we'll keep horrible accounts, and never go beyond it! At least, with her money. When we get to the end of that, we'll pay for the things with our own money, and live on bread and water and all that sort of thing!"

"We will, my twin, we will! You're a genius."

He took out his watch, then frowned. "Good-bye, Nell. Hustle me out, or I shall never go!"

"Poor old Denis!"

"That's not hustling. If you sympathise, I shall begin to cry, and refuse to budge."

She went down into the hall to help him into his coat.

"It's poor old Tellbridge, too," he observed comically. "I don't fancy I'm much of a bargain. Oh, Nell, aren't letters immeasurably more interesting, more human, than hard and dry figures? That Pennington," he added, "can tot up—subtract—fly around with figures, till he makes my head spin. He's helped me out lots of times."

"I'm going to figure, too, this morning—with Sarah! So you can think of me drowning in a sea of curly threes and twos and fives, and noughts—heaps of noughts."

Ted did not appear that day. But the next morning Nell was standing in the dining-room window, snipping off the dead jonquils from a bunch in a bowl, when, glancing up, she saw Ted coming in at the gate. She nodded and smiled, and he raised his hat. She dropped two or three dead jonquils and ran out into the hall to open the door.

"Well—" she began; she stopped abruptly—no one was there. She looked to the right; she looked to the left; she gazed up at the sky as if she thought Ted might have become possessed of wings and had flown away. Then suddenly she gave a quick little nod, and off she started in pursuit, clad in blue painting pinafore, and clasping the large pair of old scissors. A good way in front of her there was a broad-shouldered figure striding along at a terrific pace. Up the road went Nell, and after her came an open-mouthed butcher's boy. Nell was a splendid runner, but Ted's pace was swift and his strides long. He turned the corner and disappeared.

"Ted! Ted!" But he was too far off to hear. She rounded the corner in her turn, and collided with a respectable old gentleman going citywards.

"So—sorry!" she gasped, not stopping. "Did I hurt you?" she called back.

"A—pleasure!" ejaculated the respectable old gentleman, who was little and very rotund. He gazed dazedly after her and the butcher's boy. Then—for he was a chivalrous old gentleman—he trotted after them.

"If I—can help—" he observed breathlessly to a lamp-post as he passed it.

"Ted!"

He heard at last, and turned and stood staring. Then he approached stiffly, hat in hand. The butcher's boy and the little old gentleman drew nearer.

"Ted—" Nell clutched hold of his coat-sleeve.

"If I—can help—" The little old gentleman had reached her side now. The butcher's boy stood listening, mouth agape.

"Oh!" Nell gave a breathless little gurgle. "Thanks, but—"

"There's no necessity for anyone's help, thanks," said Ted, coldly.

"It was very kind of you," she interposed charmingly, "especially after I butted into you like that. But I've caught him, you see. That was all I wanted."

The old gentleman raised his hat, and retreated.

"You'll catch cold," said Ted. "You must have my coat."

"I'm not made of sugar! I won't!"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You're to come back with me at once," she said imperiously.

Dr. Hildersley, from the corner house, looked forth admiringly: "What eyes! What a colour! I wouldn't mind betting the aunt isn't at home!"

Mrs. Denbigh at No. 41 looked out and shrugged her shoulders and smiled: "One of those mad Irish people! But what a pretty girl she is!"

Once back in the dining room Nell faced him.

"Now!" she said.

"What is it you wanted me for?" he asked.

She leant, half-sitting, against the back of a chair; she swung herself gently to and fro, and looked at him thoughtfully.

"Ted, you've got a horrible temper, I believe!"

"If that's all, I may as well go!"

She made a dart toward him. "Oh, don't make me run after you again! And Aunt Kezia has expressly forbidden me to leave the house in my pinny. I've just remembered it."

"Ted," suddenly, "what did you do yesterday?"

"Rode."

"What did you ride?"

"Rowena—then Peter."

"How long did you ride?"

"All day."

She nodded.

"Sit down."

"I don't want to, thanks."

"Ted, tell me why you began to come in, and changed your mind."

"Remembered something. Is O'Brien at the bank?"

"Oh, no, he's reading in bed!"

There was a little pause.

She began suddenly: "You may go if you want to! If any little stupid thing can make you never want to come near us any more, go! I shan't run after you again, anyway. We don't understand that kind of thing, but then we're not cold-blooded Englishmen!"

"I say, Nell!"

He had grown very red, but he looked rather amused.

"Why don't you go? I'll tell Denis not to come round worrying you—" Quite suddenly she stopped. The pink colour leapt to her cheeks; she gave a little, shamefaced laugh, "Oh, Ted, it's just like—that—that first night!"

"Just what I was thinking."

There was a little silence.

"Nell, why did you come after me?"

"Because I wanted to ask you something."

"Well?"

"I wanted to know where you got that waistcoat," demurely.

He glanced down at it.

"Well, I was afraid it was rather gorgeous," he said slowly, "but I didn't think it would shine through my overcoat!"

"Oh, yes,"—she was quite unabashed,—"I saw the glow of it on thy manly bosom."

"I—I want to apologise for—"

"Oh, no, you don't! Please don't, Ted!"

"They were so beastly rude," he said.

She searched for excuses. "It really was rather—rather startling for them! You see, they're different from us—I mean," catching sight of his expression, "we're always having fun and that kind of thing—"

He smiled at her.

"Give it up, Nell," he said gently; "it's awfully good of you, but it's no go, anyway."

"Well, but—why did you come to the gate, and then turn away?"

He flushed.

"I don't know. I was coming in. I saw you, and—I funked it suddenly! I was so beastly ashamed. It was awfully good of you to come after me like that, Nell," earnestly.

"Oh, now he's a nice, sweet Teddie again, and he'll let me tell him to come and sit up in the Stronghold while I paint, won't he? There's that 'Adventures of an Irish R.M.' you're halfway through. You can read that."

He opened the door for her.

"I can hear my acushlum," he said.

CHAPTER XXIV

"Aunt Kezia says she hopes to be home in a few days, and that she trusts we are all behaving ourselves, and she hopes I'm looking after Sarah, and seeing that she uses up all the crusts and bits of bread for bread-puddings and bread-crumbs, and that she doesn't go up into Aunt Kezia's bedroom to look out of the window at her young man—"

"By Jove, I never knew Aunt Kezia had a young man!"

"And she hopes—"

"And she might let poor Sarah just look at him—he must be a curiosity. Fancy Aunt Kezia being so jealous!"

Nell put down her letter.

"She gives a great deal of advice, and is very anxious, but since Denis is so frivolous I won't tell you any more."

"I've got a letter from Tommy, and he sends his love to my snowy-breasted Pearl," observed the Atom, "and he thinks they're comin' home in about a week."

"Oh, missansir," exclaimed Sarah, coming in to clear away the breakfast things, "let me shut the winders! You'll catch your deaths of colds!"

"Oh, it's a lovely morning," said Nell, leaning out.

"When I die, plant a shamrock o'er my corpse, Sarah," begged Denis.

Sarah sighed heavily.

"It's a great responsibility me having to look after you all!"

Nell put her head down on the window-sill and laughed.

"Sheila Pat," said Molly, "what are you doing?"

The Atom was standing, with absorbed countenance, one foot extended, balancing a pin-cushion. On her head was the slop basin.

"Don't—speak—to me!"

The whisper was earnest and intense, but at that moment Kate Kearney crept up, picked off the pin-cushion, and frisked away with it. The slop basin fell with a crash.

"Oh, we shall catch it," said Nell, eying the pieces.

"I was tryin' to do the balancin' clown."

On the previous Saturday Ted had appeared very casually with a box at a circus going begging.

"Pity to waste it," he had observed uncomfortably.

He had not explained that he had booked for that box three weeks before, and had never summoned up courage to mention it till the very day itself.

They had enjoyed every moment of that circus; and Sheila Pat had striven to do many things since that she had witnessed that day.

"Next time," advised Denis, from the hall, "you practise the clown, do it with sofa-cushions, Atom. It will come more economical in the end."

That evening Herr Schmidt went into his bedroom, and found a small burglar walking off with the two tall candles from his toilet table.

"Good evenin'," the burglar said calmly. "I'm glad you've come in, because now I can ask if you've any injection to lendin' us your candles, Herr Schmidt."

"Not at all, my dear; it is a bleasure."

He followed her into the hall. Suddenly she turned, looking gnomish.

"I invite you to join our little party, Herr Schmidt!" she said with a good deal of effect.

"A barty? But I am old—"

"Please come! I do so want you to come!"

He smiled delightedly.

"You are a nice little girl! Ach, yes, I will come if ze rest wish it also."

"Oh, yes, they will! You see, it's to jump over candles!"

"To joomp? Candles?"

She nodded.

"Nell," entering the dining room, which was cleared for action, "isn't it lovely—Herr Schmidt's goin' to jump them, too!" Her wicked little voice trembled with glee.

"Oh!" said Nell, "oh, it's very good of him!"

Herr Schmidt looked on with benign interest as they arranged twelve candles, big, little, thin, fat, in a row on the floor, some in candlesticks and a few stuck on pieces of wood. He listened earnestly to Nell's explanation.

"Yes, yes, I understand. Every candle represents a month. Yes. I joomp—so!" He gave an elephantine leap in the air that sent Molly flying from the room. "And if I blow out any, I shall be onhappy zat month—ach, yes!"

"And all you jump over without blowing out will be happy and prosperous months."

"So! I understant. Shall I begin?"

He did begin. He stood before the first candle drew his feet together, and—thud!—he was over and beaming round, breathless but triumphant.

"Ach—he not out!"

He smiled seraphically upon his rude, convulsed audience, which was strewn around helplessly on chairs and sofa.

Then he prepared to manipulate the second candle. With a thud that shook the whole house, he cleared it triumphantly.

"January, February! Ach, it is so easy!"

"You're a fairy, Herr Schmidt!" declared Denis. "I believe you've got gossamer wings hidden in your toes!"

"You're a bit muddled, O.B., aren't you?" observed Ted.

But the hackneyed and stale old saying that pride goes before a fall held good now. Herr Schmidt, overconfident, leapt buoyantly at his third candle and came down with a horrible squelch straight on it.

"Ach, I've put—him out!" he ejaculated dismally.

"No, have you?" said Ted.

"Yes, I haf," he responded in all good faith, eying the flattened mass of wax. "It is March; I shall be unlucky."

Then warily he started once more. He surmounted successfully April, May, June, and July. By that time his beaming smiles had given place to a deep and solemn earnestness infinitely more ludicrous. His face was very red, and his breath was very short. But on he went; came to grief over August; on again, over September, October, successfully, put November out, and leapt December with a bang that Denis declared made his teeth rattle in his head.

"Zere!" He looked round on his audience much as a conqueror might have looked on the worlds he had conquered—with pride tempered by sadness for losses. "I shall be unlucky in March and August and November, but I joomp zem well, eh? Zo many not out, hein?"

"Oh, beautifully," said Nell, wiping her eyes, "only three out!"

They replaced flattened March, then Sheila Pat went earnestly at the candles; bright and airy as a sprite, she skipped over them without putting out one. Molly was not so lucky. Her skirts were longer than the Atom's, her giggles more helpless. Her jumps were wild, hopelessly crooked. She put out February and March, then stood on one leg, her skirts all bunched up in front, shaking with laughter.

"Don't look at me! Oh, mayn't I begin again? Denis—don't make me laugh!"

She gathered her skirts together—thud, thud, thud, thud! In a wild rush April, May, June, July, were jumped triumphantly.

"O dear!" She stopped again, breathless with giggles and frantic little squeals at each candle. Denis was shouting aloud at her desperate hops.

"You're like a one-legged frog, Mol! Go on! You mustn't stop!"

"I'll never do the rest! Oh!" She stumbled—kicked August over, trod on September, and fell headlong on October, November, and December. A horrible smell of burning arose. Herr Schmidt, with a torrent of guttural exclamations, rushed to her assistance. Ted also helped her to rise. The others simply collapsed and laughed.

Two burnt holes in her skirt, and grease—grease—grease—were the extent of the damages. Molly lay on the lounge and groaned out:—

"Oh, I ache! Stop me laughing!"

They cut a long candle in two and procured two fresh ones; then Nell went forward, light as Sheila Pat but not able to control her laughter so well, and jumped all successfully except February.

A friend called to see Herr Schmidt and he went regretfully away. Denis skipped airily over the whole twelve candles, without a pause, and without putting out one.

"Come on, Ted! It's as easy as sleeping with your eyes shut!"

"Wait a moment—I've an idea!" exclaimed Nell.

"No!"

"It's not fair for you boys. How do you think I put out February? Why, with the whiff of my skirt! You shall wear skirts!"

They draped them artistically with rugs and shawls, pinning them up till Ted declared ruefully that he moved in terror of his life.

"Come on!" shouted Denis. "What's a rug when you've got a good pair of legs! Houp la!"

And he was staggering and stumbling helplessly, with January and February both out.

"Where are your good pair of legs now?"

"I can do better than that. It requires a calm dignity and caution," observed Ted. "You were too rash, O.B., too Oirish altogether."

He dragged his rugs and shawls together.

"You've lit them again? Thanks. Now!"

He jumped slowly, heavily, without any spring, cleared January successfully, and put out February with a fliff of his draperies.

"Hang it all! That's not fair. Why, it's out before I've jumped the thing!"

"Of course!" cried Nell, gleefully. "You're too English altogether, Ted! You should be more careful with your skirt!"

"Um." He eyed the candle reflectively, then cautiously stepped round it.

"I'm not going to jump it for nothing," he declared; "it's out and it can't be outer. Now for March."

He rolled his draperies into a ball in front, jumped blindly, the ball projecting too far for him to be able to see the candle, and peered round complacently.

"He's all right!"

But a storm of expostulations arose.

"You jumped right on one side!"

"You didn't jump over it at all!"

"You must do it again!"

He sighed.

"I do call that jolly hard!"

He looked appealingly at Nell, but got no sympathy.

At that moment Denis gave a war-whoop behind him.

"Go on! Let's rush 'em! I'm coming! Hurry up!"

"Oh, I say!" He clutched wildly at his draperies, heard Denis clear the candle behind him, and leapt forward desperately, his rugs held up anyhow.

Over March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November they careered without a pause to view what success they had achieved, stumbling, kicking, making the most awful noise; then Ted did not take December quickly enough—Denis, unable to stop himself, with a yell collided into him, and over they went, squashing December as flat as the proverbial pancake. They lay, kicking, struggling, all muddled up.

"Give us a hand!" shouted Denis. "Here, you idiot, you're hanging on to my rug!"

"I'm not! A pin's digging into my calf!"

"I tell you, you have got hold of my rug!"

"I haven't! It's my shawl you're pulling at."

"Nell, I'll disown you as my twin forever if you don't come and separate this fool from me!"

Ted groaned dismally. "There's another pin—in my shoulder!"

"Pooh, I've got 'em digging into me everywhere! I'm the latest thing in pin-cushions! Nell O'Brien, when at the post mortem the verdict is 'Death due to an overdose of pins,' you'll repent, perhaps—"

"O.B., will you let that bit of shawl go? Or tear off the corner you've taken such a fancy to!"

"Oh, no, it's Aunt Kezia's," squealed Molly, "oh—do be careful!"

"Oh, Lor'," gasped Denis, in exhausted tones, "I'm done! And with my last breath I maintain 'tis my shawl."

"There, now, I've let everything go. Twirl me—twist me—do what you will with me," said Ted. "Get up, O.B.! I say, ware shins, old man!"

They stumbled to their feet and stood and surveyed the row of dilapidated candles—bent double, lying full length on the ground, squashed flat, and one only still alight.

"Ted, shake hands. In face of the sad and gloomy year I see before us, I can harbour no ill feeling towards you; though 'twas my shawl, yet let us be as brothers in misfortune."

"January, February, March, April, May, June, July—July is to be our one and only joyful month, O.B.!"

"And now," pursued Denis, "let us bow to the ladies of the company. Our awe and admiration—always intense—have increased by five hundred yards, four inches, during the last half hour of sad experience. Amn't I right, sweet brother?"

Ted bowed; then his eyes twinkled as he fixed them on the Atom's long legs.

"My awe and admiration for Sheila Pat remain as they were," he announced firmly.

The Atom sat down suddenly on the floor.

"Oh, the mess!" sighed Nell, "the awful mess!"

"Who is it who speaks?" inquired Denis, in tragic tones. "I have no twin. In my direst need she deserted me—her one and only twin—her Irish boy—her brown-haired brother—oh, by Jove!" with a sudden shout of laughter, "suppose Aunt Kezia were to walk in now!"

CHAPTER XXV

Nell conned her accounts and sighed worriedly. They were in a hopeless muddle; the only clear thing about them was—the unexpectedness of the size of the total. Then she turned to Aunt Kezia's books and her own separate account of what they were spending. Finally she took a long letter from the pocket of her pinafore, and studied it anxiously. Then she rose and went slowly downstairs to the kitchen.

"What'll you 'ave for lunch, miss?" queried Sarah.

"There was some chicken left, wasn't there?"

"Nothing to speak of, miss."

"You might get it up and let me see it Sarah."

Sarah left the kitchen, and Nell sat on the table and studied the butcher's account, and her brow grew puckered.

"There, miss, not more'n enough for two."

Nell eyed the diminutive wing and leg and bit of breast anxiously. Then she laughed.

"Sarah, we'll have it curried—with plenty of rice!"

"It'll never do, miss."

"I shall be quite content with rice. It will have to do, and that's all about it. We're spending too much, Sarah!"

"Well, miss, it's the little things somehow. I don't know 'ow it is, but you have such a lot of extrys—pretty jim-crams I calls 'em to myself."

"And the baker's account is so much larger too, Sarah." Nell wandered over to the bread-pan and looked in. Some words in Miss Kezia's letter were in her mind: "Keep a strict watch on the bread, and see that the stale is all used up. Servants never will trouble to do this."

"Oh, Sarah, what a heap of stale bread!"

"Well, miss, I can't help it. You all like new bread. Mr. Denis said only t'other morning at breakfast when I tried to use up a bit o' stale, 'e said, 'I wondered, where that old pair of shoes of mine had got to!'"

Her tone was full of admiration of Denis's wit.

"But—I don't understand—couldn't we order less, or something?"

"Oh, no, miss, sure as you did that, you'd come short."

"I know! I read once of a way to make stale bread new, Sarah, and I tried it for fun, and it acted beautifully."

Sarah looked sceptical.

"I'll show you with a small piece. Now let me see—first you pass it under the cold-water tap—like this—then you put it in the oven for about ten minutes."

At the end of the ten minutes she brought it forth triumphantly.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Sarah, admiringly. "I must tell mother that! And oh, miss, I meant to tell you butter's gone up tuppence, and we do use such an orful lot!"

Nell sighed. "I've noticed we spend much more on it than Aunt Kezia did."

"Oh, yes, that's because you none liked the second best, miss, so I hordered the best. Even Miss Sheilerpat said she would as soon 'ave her bread buttered with candle grease, a little bit of a thing like 'er! You see, miss, you've been used to country butter and the best, living in a castle as you did—"

Nell hardly smiled.

"But which does Aunt Kezia have, Sarah?"

"The second best. She's a Scotch lady, you see, miss, and different and—it seemed to grow worse lately—"

"It can't be helped, Sarah. Candle grease or lamp oil, we must have it, if Aunt Kezia did. And—don't you think you could use less butter in your cooking, Sarah?" She felt distinctly mean as she said it, but it was only in accordance with strict injunctions in Miss Kezia's letter.

"Oh, well, miss," Sarah's tone grew ruffled, "I couldn't cook proper with less! And as for dripping—you wouldn't like that!"

"But you must use it if you do when Aunt Kezia is at home, Sarah," said Nell, preparing to flee. Now dripping was to Sarah as a red rag to a bull. Nell was pursued across the hall and into the morning room with an avalanche of excited eloquence, the refrain of which was: "Castle folk to eat dripping! Why, you'll turn sick at it, miss!"

Nell, in a perfect excess of goodness, went up to the Stronghold once more, and averting her eyes from a study of foxhounds on her easel, took up the account-book once more. She sent Molly and the Atom out with Kate Kearney, and then she wrestled. The end of it was flushed cheeks, angry eyes, worried brows, and a ruffled head of hair. Then Nell flung the book into a corner of the room.

"That's where you ought to be, you nasty, sordid, money-grubbing little worm!"

"Hulloa," cried Denis, suddenly appearing with Ted. "Whom on earth are you talking to, and swearing at, what's more?"

"How-do-you-do?" said Nell to Ted.

"Been washing your head, twin?"

"No."

"It looks like it, and you look pretty warm."

"Oh, do leave my looks alone!" petulantly.

Denis's eyebrows went up.

Ted looked out of the window and whistled with soft energy to himself.

"Silly old bounder wouldn't come in for ages," observed Denis, sitting astride a chair; "says he was here to lunch yesterday."

He paused, and waited for her to speak. She gave a little gasp, as she remembered the curried chicken, and was silent.

Denis's brows drew together in a great frown.

Ted broke in with a laugh.

"I'm not going to stay now! I only came in to pacify O.B."

With a little flush of horror all her instincts of hospitality awoke.

"Shut the door, Denis! Guard it! Don't let him go, except over your dead body!"

His brow cleared at once; laughing, he placed himself before the door.

"Oh, but," expostulated Ted, "I—er—I—really, you know, I just live here!"

"Wish you did, old man!"

"It's awfully kind, you know, and all that, but—"

"Oh, Ted, what a lot of breath you do waste!" ejaculated Nell. She spoke heartily, because she felt that if he went away, she would be shamed forever; but she was still cross, and inclined to make molehills into mountains.

She took her place at the table and watched Denis moodily as he peered into the dish before him.

"I say, Sheila Pat, fetch me the fairy spectacles of Karring Glen! I'll need 'em! Bothered if my own unaided mortal eyes can find any meat or snails or puppy-dogs' tails here!"

"It's curried chicken," said Nell, austerely.

"Thanks, my dear! But are you sure 'tisn't curried rice?"

"I'm in luck," Ted observed quietly; "I adore rice."

"Glad to hear it, old man! It's pretty well all you'll get to-day. Sarah, are you trying to starve your youthful charges?"

"It is my fault; I said it would do," Nell said clearly.

"How awfully nice of you," Ted cut in; "you must have known I was coming along."

"Denis, I don't want any chicken—only rice, please."

"You've got to have it, anyway."

"I don't want it!"

"Leave it, then."

She knew that tone. She frowned and bit her lip, but rather than make more fuss, she gave in.

"No one's cut any bread," observed Molly.

Ted seized the loaf. Nell glanced at him, saw his face was red and puzzled, looked at the loaf, which wore a somewhat grimy and cindery appearance, leant forward, and gave it a squeeze. Then suddenly she began to laugh and laugh: "Oh—it's an experiment!" she gasped. "I'm—afraid—it isn't—a success!"

Ted was smiling amusedly.

Denis seized the loaf.

"Great Scott, it's as hard as stone! Shake her, Ted, shake the explanation out of her!"

"I—I told Sarah—to wet it and put it in the oven—to make it new! O dear!"

He rang the bell.

"You might experiment on lump sugar next time, old girl, 'twon't affect me, you see!"

"The rest's all the same, miss! I did it all at once just as you told me to, and you said as I wasn't to horder any more till the stale was used up—"

"All right, Sarah," Denis broke in impatiently; "go to the nearest baker's, and get a loaf at once."

"Mistress won't 'ave nothink to do with Brown, sir; she says they give short weight—"

"Then go to Smith or Robinson's!" he shouted impatiently.

"I don't know either of them, sir, if you'll hexcuse me—"

"Go to the next nearest to Brown's, Sarah," he said in a gentle, lamblike voice.

"Yessir. I 'aven't any money."

He found a sixpence and handed it to her with a bow.

Ted was calmly eating his lunch.

"Servants," observed Denis, "are born without brains, and with the bump of unconscious aggravation dumped in the place where the brains ought to be."

Later, they found that the butter was rank. Before Nell knew what he was going to do Denis had attacked Sarah about it and out came a voluble and injured explanation about the best butter being so dear, and Miss Nell had said they were to have the second best because they ate such a lot and were spending too much money. Nell sat quite calm and quiet; she made no attempt to stop Sarah. She had got beyond that. Ted meanwhile had helped himself to the rank butter, and was heroically eating it, his face stolid.

Denis's brow was thunderous; in a curt voice that set poor Sarah weeping in the kitchen he told her to go.

Then there was an uncomfortable pause.

Ted broke it with an anecdote. He told it, and Nell smiled politely. Sheila Pat sat and considered awhile, then she observed clearly, "I don't see anythin' to laugh at in that story at all!"

Ted grew scarlet.

"I—I believe I left out the point, acushlum!"

"Please tell it me!"

He did—laboriously, and with none of the dry humour that usually distinguished his stories.

Nell looked at him, heroically retelling his poor little anecdote, and heroically eating his bread and rank butter, and she burst out laughing.

"Oh, poor Ted, do give K.K. the rest of that crust!"

"Should think it would poison her," said Denis, moodily.

"I like it," declared Ted, with obstinate mendacity. "You're all so particular!"

And he ate it down to the very last crumb.

After lunch Denis went off to the bank, and Ted went with him.

"Nell," at the end of the afternoon Denis burst in, "I'm all bottled up! Let me explode! Wasn't it a beastly lunch, old girl? I know we've got to be poor,—horribly, beastly poor,—but I can't stand making a show like that before a guest—making him think he oughtn't to be there at all—hang it all, to be stingy to one's friends!"

"You see," said Nell, in quite a weary old little voice, "poverty isn't so picturesque out of books as in them."

"Rice and rank butter—bricky bread! It's all rot! We can stint more when we're alone."

"I didn't know Ted was coming."

"Good Heavens, are we to live like pigs, that we can't ask anyone to lunch without an elaborate warning beforehand?"

"You just said we could stint—"

"I don't care what I said! It was a ridiculous and needless fiasco! And you know it! Why are we living so much worse all of a sudden? When Aunt Kezia's here we do have something decent to eat, though it is plain."

Nell sprang up. She flung her palette, her brush, down.

"Why don't you telegraph for her to come back since you miss her so terribly? I can't do any better! It's so beautifully easy to stand and look on, and then grumble because you can't live on the fat of the land! What do you care if the butcher's bill runs to a disgraceful total—if we're spending six times as much as we ought—if we have, in the end, to beg money of Aunt Kezia, because ours has all gone—if the bread-pan is full of stale bread? No, you're the lordly male creature who ordains impossibilities and expects them to be carried out with a smiling face! Oh, I'm sick—sick of it all! And I loathe and abominate housekeeping on farthings! It's sordid and hateful!" And she fled from the room.

Denis stood and stared at the door; then he gave a low whistle, and walked slowly up and down the room. Finally, he strode out and banged on to Nell's door.

"May I come in, twin?"

"Yes," said a very small voice. He rushed at her and butted his cheek against hers, which was suspiciously wet.

"I was a beast, mavourneen! I'm sorry, Nell—all through. By Jove, to think I'm growing into a grumpy old curmudgeon all along o' these London fogs! Why didn't we just laugh at it all, I wonder? I'm sure it was funny! You're not cross with poor bad-tempered old Snarly-Jaw, are you, Nell?"

"No! You know quite well that it was I—"

"I say, Nell, stick on a hat! We'll go and get some kippers for tea! Savory and economical and charmingly vulgar! I'm pretty hungry—I am. And we'll haul Ted along, shall we? To get the taste of that grumpy lunch out of him, eh? Here's a hat!" He seized one up from the bed and stuck it on her head. She looked up at him from under its brim, her pretty eyes still wet, her dimples dancing.

He seized her face in his hands, and gave her cheek a great, hearty kiss.

"Denis," she said, "suppose Fate had given me Patsy O'Neil for a twin!"

"You desecrate the annals of our house by such an infamous and unalluring supposition."

Ted was easily persuaded to come back to tea: he jumped at the invitation before it was finished. He would have agreed to come and stay for a week, a month, so terrified was he that he should betray remembrance of that luckless luncheon.

The Stronghold greeted them with a great, glowing fire, before which Jim O'Driscoll sat eating a biscuit; the table glimmered in its light, set out with a special daintiness; poor Sarah also was doing her best to obliterate memories. There was a raid on the kitchen for forks; a hustling and pushing for places at the fire in the Stronghold. Ted pushed and hustled Denis with all his strength, but his politeness stood in his way with the others. There was a food deal of noise and a good many tumbles as they fought and elbowed each other, and of course Molly's kipper fell into the fire.

"Oh! Oh, Denis—get it out!"

"I will!" cried Ted, and gallantly hied to the rescue.

They shouted with joy at his wild plunges after the kipper, and when he at last held it proudly aloft, minus a tail, and scorched and shrivelled into a sprat, it was met with a torrent of rude remarks.

Ted handed Molly his own kipper with an air of offended pride; in vain she protested.

"Here—catch, old man!" Denis flung a fresh kipper to him. "The burnt one will do for your second help!"

And sure enough it did. Ted found kippers, cooked by himself and eaten for tea, so good that he ate up every blackened bit of the luckless burnt fish, and declared he regretted the lost tail.

He looked round on the scorched cheeks and smiled benignly. "Isn't it good?" he said, with the simplicity that made Nell so fond of him.

"Oh, Ted, what a dear old man you will make some day!"

"Cantankerous old beast, I think!" observed Denis.

"Isn't it funny that things one cooks one's self are always so much nicer than kitchen-cooked things?" reflected Molly. "But I wish I hadn't cooked my nose quite so much."

"A cape is a promontory projecting from the land," suddenly declaimed Denis, and they all laughed.

"Ware noses!" exclaimed Ted, tenderly fingering his own.

"I like big noses," Sheila Pat said thoughtfully. "There's a more—sort of—understandin' look about them—for boys."

"Acushlum, what made you think of big noses just then?" he urged reproachfully.

"Let's play hide-and-seek all over the house!" exclaimed Molly. Sheila Pat slid from her chair.

"The benighted Englishman shall be seeker first!" she decreed, and with a little squeal of laughter darted from the room.

CHAPTER XXVI

"Seen any Irish pictures?" Ted's tone was labouredly casual.

They were talking about the various picture galleries they had revelled in. Nell turned a suspicious eye on him; she was beginning to know that casual tone. He had used it when he had suggested that Denis might exercise Rowena for him—"Pity to let her eat her head off in the stable, and I'm off for the day to a cousin who's passing through town on her way to Paris." He had used it too in connection with flowers and sweets, and on appearing in a dog-cart one day had observed—"Struck me—room for all—squeeze acushlum in anywhere—pity to waste it."

So now Nell responded with a "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I was thinking—chap sent me tickets for private show—pity to waste 'em—Neil O'Donoghue's pictures, you know—"

"Oh, Ted, the Irish landscape man?"

He nodded.

"Teddie, you angel! Oh, I'll use your tickets. There's no false modesty about me, when you hold out a bait like that! Can we go now—now?"

"Rather! Look here, Nell, you—I mean you will let me— Jolly place just close by—give you ripping luncheons! You will all come, won't you?"

"Oh! Well, you know—"

"Oh, I say, be a brick, Nell!"

She laughed out.

"I was only hesitating because I felt I ought to! I won't be polite with you ever again, Ted! You do look so abjectly miserable. I'd love to end up like that!"

"That's all right. I'll just scoot round to the bank and tell Denis to meet us outside at half-past one. Will you all be ready when I get back?"

"I should think we will indeed."

When he came back they met him at the gate.

"I'm not coming, Ted," said Nell, buttoning her glove.

He smiled.

"Good-bye, then."

"You see, we've given Sarah a holiday, and Aunt Kezia would faint if she knew we'd left the house unguarded."

"There's Kate Kearney."

"Oh! You cruel boy! Why, Sheila Pat took her into the maids next door. You don't think we'd leave her all alone, do you? No, I'm going to stay and guard the house. Do hurry, we're missing precious moments."

Sheila Pat led the way into the picture gallery, lured on by a glimpse of a large water-colour painting—just a bit of her own Emerald Isle. How they enjoyed those pictures!

"Oh, Teddie, they're beautiful—beautiful! Can't you see how he loves every bit he paints? He's got the spirit of it all—the meaning—so beautifully! Look at that dear, misty bit, over there, with the sun breaking through! Isn't it glorious? She never cries without a laugh at the end of it, you know! And those mountains there—so mysterious—so silent! And the little stream laughing up at them—it's such an impudent little stream—all laughter and ripples and sun-flecks—no awing that—" Her breath caught suddenly and she stopped.

Sheila Pat said never a word from the moment she entered the gallery to the moment she left it. She studied the paintings alone, her odd little face absorbed. But when they left the place, and saw Denis just coming towards them, she made a sudden, wild little run at him, and caught hold of his arm. He lifted her up.

"Take my hat off for me, asthore!"

It was rather a silent luncheon party at first, but Denis soon altered that.

Ted insisted on presenting them with a huge box of chocolates at the end of lunch.

"Now for two hansoms," he said, when they came out. "There's the horse for me!"

"Um," observed Denis, as the cab drew up, "don't think much of him. Forelegs a bit groggy. Hi! Here!" he shouted to another driver. "Now that's a cute little beast if you like!"

Ted preferred his own choice.

"Race you to No. 35!" Denis exclaimed. "Bet I beat you!"

"Done!"

Nell, the Atom, and Ted hurried into one hansom; Molly and Denis into the other.

"Double fare if you beat that!" Denis shouted.

"Same here!" yelled Ted.

Off they went.

It was a close and very exciting race. Denis's horse seemed the likeliest to win at first. He led all along Regent Street; then in a block at the Circus Ted's driver manoeuvred cleverly and got in front. Then for a while they raced neck by neck. Round the corners they rocked.

"By Jove, this chap can drive!" ejaculated Ted, as they rocked round a corner, shaving the curb, and gaining a yard or two on the other hansom. From that came fragments of angry shouts. "Idiot!—drive a cow!—afraid of— 'Tisn't a funeral, man!"

"This is Henley Road," cried Nell, "and we're still leading!"

There was a final mad and unlawful spurt, and Ted's hansom leading by a yard or two, they dashed up in style before a pair of incredulous, horrified eyes watching their mad approach from Mrs. Barclay's drawing-room window. Moreover, the window was open, and a pair of ears, as incredulous and horrified as the eyes, listened to a babel of laughter and talk, to arguments on the horses' and drivers' merits.

Nell broke in suddenly, "Good gracious, how are we to get in?"

There was a pause.

"Allow me to scratchulate my head and ruminate," Denis observed.

Ted suggested: "How about the old German? When does he come in? I suppose he has a key?"

"He's gone away till Monday!"

"I have it," ejaculated Denis; "I, even I, will climb that passage gate and effect a burglarious—oh, my prophetic soul, my—aunt!"

A voice—an awful, laughter-killing voice, smote upon their startled ears.

"So," it said, in accents hard and cold, "this is the way you behave in my absence!"

She came slowly down the steps of the next-door house. Denis strode to open the gate, hat in hand.

"How are you, Aunt Kezia? Quite an unexpected pleasure!"

Ted raised his hat.

She took no notice of either salutation.

"May I ask how you intend to enter the house?"

"With your key, Aunt Kezia. Could things have happened more fortunately?" The twinkle in his gay blue eye was irresistible. "You arrive at the crucial moment—a ministering angel—a fairy godmother—"

"Be quiet, sir! You are impertinent! And my latchkey," a dull pink spread slowly over her face, "is packed in my box, and my box is coming on this evening. I could not dream that I should need my key at half-past two o'clock, the time I arrived home!"

He winked at Nell.

"Do you always pack your key, Aunt Kezia?" in an innocent little voice.

"No! Once more, may I inquire how you intend to enter the house?"

"You see that wooden gate? I will climb it—Excelsior—or perish in the attempt! Once over that, I can enter by the kitchen or the passage door."

"So you did not even trouble to lock them?"

"Sure, then, how would we be getting in if we had?"

"It was me!" burst out Nell, and her voice trembled.

"I!" said Miss Kezia.

"Fare thee well! I go to attack bolts and bars for you!"

He made for the gate, which only opened from the inside, swarmed airily up, and disappeared with a wave of his hand.

"Is Miss Hadlow quite well now, Aunt Kezia?" queried Nell, breaking the awful silence.

"No! When I read in your letter that still Mrs. Barclay had not returned, I considered it my duty to come back! It is well I did so!"

"I must be off," said Ted, turning to shake hands with Nell.

"Will you please to remain, Master Lancaster? I wish to have some questions answered once we get into the house."

That emphasised "Master" tickled him hugely; he gave Nell's arm a surreptitious pinch as he responded courteously that he would be pleased to stay.

"I'm sorry we kept you waiting, Aunt Kezia," began Nell again, valiantly.

"Eileen, I do not wish to speak to any of you till we get inside the house!"

Nell gave a little helpless gurgle, and tried to turn it into a cough. So they stood in dead silence and looked at each other. Nell felt that in another moment she would shriek aloud with mirth. Sheila Pat's small shoulders shook every now and then, and Sheila Pat's eyes studied Miss Kezia's face with a most unholy glee in their wicked depths. Suddenly Molly, in a paroxysm of nervousness, burst out:—

"Did you enjoy yourself, Aunt Kezia?"

There was a little dreadful pause.

Then—"I do not go to nurse my sick friends for enjoyment, Molly!"

Nell clutched Ted's arm despairingly, and then suddenly, glancing wildly about to keep her eyes from the comical little group, she caught sight of Denis's wicked face peering at them from Herr Schmidt's window. He met her eye, winked, and rolled away from the window in roars of laughter.

She struggled—she pinched Ted's arm cruelly—and she glared, fascinated, at that window. In a minute he reappeared, his eyes wet, studied them a moment, and rolled away again, roaring. His face was irresistible. She could see how he was roaring. She gave one last frantic pinch of Ted's arm, and burst out into wild laughter—hopeless, unmistakable, helpless laughter.

Ted looked at her, then at Miss Kezia's crimson face, and leant helplessly against the front door. Poor Molly made the most awful sounds in her agitated efforts not to laugh, and Sheila Pat's face grew momentarily more impish. Then the front door was opened with a suspicious suddenness, and Ted went headlong in—Denis dodged—he stumbled and staggered into the wall, where he recovered his equilibrium, and stood ruefully rubbing his head.

"All right, old man, I'll remember it!" he declared.

Nell fled ignominiously, laughing and shaking, up the stairs and into the Stronghold, and banged the door. Down to the others there floated a long ripple of helpless laughter.

They followed Miss Kezia into the morning room, and there she turned and faced them.

Ted looked about him interestedly. He was distinctly amused; to be held up like this and lectured as if he were a naughty little boy was new to him, and he enjoyed it immensely.

"One of you go up and fetch Eileen—no, not you, Denis! Or you, Master Lancaster! You go, Molly."

Molly hesitated, in distress. She knew that, once alone with Nell, she would never be able to regain her seriousness.

Ted took a step forward, "Mayn't I, please?" he asked meekly.

"Did you not hear me, Molly?"

"Y-yes, Aunt Kezia."

She hurried from the room, banged her elbow against the door, and went upstairs. She opened the door of the Stronghold about an inch, and called through, all in one agitated breath:—

"You're to come down, and oh, don't laugh, Nell!"

"I can't, M-Molly! I s-simply can't!"

"You must! Oh, do be serious!"

There was a pause.

"What are you all doing down there, Molly?"

"Standing—"

There was a ripple of laughter from the other side of the door.

"Oh, don't! I can see it! I—I can't come."

Molly had started giggling directly Nell's laugh reached her.

"Oh, Nell, don't be—so mean! You—you're making me laugh!"

"Why don't you come in?"

"I daren't!"

Inside and outside the door there was laughter then. Then a despairing—

"You go down, M-Molly! I'll come in a minute!"

Molly fled.

"S-she's coming, Aunt Kezia." She gave a terrified giggle, and took her place next to the Atom.

There was a pause. All heard a light pattering step outside and glanced towards the door. Nothing happened.

Miss Kezia stood gaunt and grim; no one spoke. Denis's head drooped low; he had folded his hands meekly before him. The door handle was touched—there was another pause—then it was turned abruptly, suddenly, and Nell marched in. Head back, looking straight in front of her, biting her lip, frowning, she marched in, took her stand beside Ted, and implored him in a shaky whisper not to make her l-laugh. Then Miss Kezia began. She started on the vulgarity and danger of racing in hansoms in London. She pointed out the trouble in which they might have involved their drivers. She emphasised the scandal there would have been had they been pursued by the police, and Sheila Pat's face grew full of longing. From hansoms she went on to the awful iniquity of having left the house unguarded; from that to Sarah's holiday, of which she disapproved strongly. From Sarah's holiday she ranged austerely to grease stains, untidiness, foolish hilarity, and hysteria. She threw in various uncomplimentary remarks on feather-heads, untrustworthiness, rowdyism, and other things of a similar nature, and then in a final tone she wound up:—