CHAPTER XVIINell hardly paused to breathe. Standing before her easel, the easel dragged into the window, the curtains tugged back, she worked away with a rapid brush."Mr. Lancaster, missansir!" Sarah announced with an air."Oh, how are you? Do you mind waiting a minute?" She did not even glance round.Silence reigned.Then she flung down her brush with a sigh, stepped back and into Ted Lancaster's arms."Oh!" She gave a little laugh and turned round. "I've been rude, haven't I? But I did so want to catch that bit of grudging daylight. Denis is out with the others. He got off early to-day.""Yes, I know. I thought I'd catch him. I wanted to ask him if he'd come round this evening."She held out painty fingers."I can't even shake hands! And why did you stand there all the time?""I've been watching you.""I hope you found it interesting.""I did. I like the little dabs you do with your brush on the front of your pinafore up at the right-hand side."She laughed."I make myself very painty."He was studying her painting earnestly."It's just a study of an old white horse a milkman—a friend of Sheila Pat's—has. I spent the morning in his stable. He's invalided home on account of a lame leg. I was just putting a few finishing touches from memory.""He's splendid.""He was a glorious model—but difficult. There's any amount of drawing in him. I'm going again to-morrow, only you see, if Aunt Kezia were to find out, I feel sure she'd forbid me, and—well, I suppose there would be ructions then, because she'd forbid me to go, and I'm going to finish him down to the last hair on his tail. I know she'll catch me. I walk out, canvas and easel, paint-box and all, as bold as Larry Hoolahan himself. Only Aunt Kezia's worse than any shape the fairies ever took!""Who's the gentleman?""Oh, he was a piper who was afraid of nothing." She picked up her brush again, and worked a little on the head. "He wasn't afraid even of the fairies, and actually won the good-will of the chief of them on Knocksheogonna.""Would you mind saying it again?" he suggested.She smiled."It means 'the Hill of the Fairy Calf.' I'm spoiling this," she put down her palette and brush. "I'll show you my rendering of some of the shapes the fairy took to scare the poor herdsmen away. They resented cattle being herded on their ground, you see."She started rummaging in a big old untidy portfolio. She handed him a sheet of paper covered with rough sketches in water colour."By Jove, that Hooligan must have had a good nerve to stand those.""You're not to call him that. I like him. That's where she turned herself into a man with a lame leg and a bull's head, with flames playing all round it. There she's a big horse, with eagle's wings and a dragon's tail, with fire coming out of her mouth.""This beats them all, I think!""Oh, yes, she's a huge ape with a turkey's tail and duck's feet, there.""I don't need explanations, thanks," he observed with dignified politeness."No? What is that, then?"She pointed to a sketch.He studied it earnestly."Er—it's a conglomeration—boots—" he paused, reddened, "and a collar."She laughed."It's meant for a salmon with a cravat round its neck, and a pair of top-boots, only I can't draw a salmon to save my life!"He looked injured."I knew what all the rest were!"She took the sheet from him. He moved towards the door."Will you give O'Brien my message?""You're not going! Please put up with me till the others come in. I'll just go and wash my hands. Sit down."She came back presently, gave a piece of coal a poke with her foot, sat down, looked into the red heart of the fire, then across at him."Do you really like a motor better than a horse?" she said.He stared at her, astonished."A motor—better than a horse? Great Scott, no! What made you ask?""Well, you drive about in a motor.""Oh, yes, the governor has a ripping car. And for getting about the country—real long trips, you know—they're splendid. But of course, they don't come under the same heading as horses at all.""I've been hoarding that up against you," she declared frankly."Have you?" He looked amused. "It seems so queer to me—I never look upon them in the same light at all.""Motors are horrid things.""I don't think so.""The dust—the smell—""Don't affect you when you're in one.""But they affect other people."He shrugged his shoulders."They're real selfish things!" he laughed. "When you're motoring, you don't care a hang for that sort of thing. You just go tearing along—monarch of all you survey.""And—dogs?"He smiled. "I've never run over one yet, unless they die like martyrs without a groan.""Well, they may beuseful," she conceded. "But the feeling can't be anything like the glory of a gallop—a canter—""No, it isn't. Nothing can come anywhere near a decent mount, and a good stretch of country before you."They fell silent for a while.Nell, furtively studying him, as he sat forward in his chair looking into the fire, broke out at last."Mr. Lancaster, you've no business to look so—so pale—so done up!"He flushed."Do I? Overwork, perhaps."She bent toward him; she said softly:—"Do you mind my noticing? Denis always lets me fuss if he cuts his finger or anything like that.""I was riding this morning," the words seemed to be dragged from him against his will; "I expect I overdid it."Her pretty eyes opened wide."You needn't think I'm just a weakly idiot," he burst out angrily."I don't. You've had an illness?"He nodded.She sighed suggestively. He looked at her, and smiled unwillingly."It was nearly six months ago now." He frowned and paused. "Accident—horse had to be shot.""Oh!" She waited."It was a beastly motor omnibus—poor old Pilot bolted. We had a fight—I'd nearly got him under—and a fool of a boy came tearing round a corner yelling and waving a hoop in the air. Pilot bolted straight into a shop window—had to be shot."She shivered. "And you?""Oh, I broke a leg, and cracked my skull, and broke a few ribs. Went to bed for a while. Then got up—went out for a walk—got drenched through—pneumonia and pleurisy—eternal bed. Hard lines, wasn't it?""Who nursed you?""Two of 'em. When I was a bit off my head you wouldn't believe how they worried me. You see, one had a red face and a blaze of red-gold hair, and the other had a great, pale moon-face and black hair, and the red-gold one was the night nurse, and the pale one the day nurse. I got sort of mixed and thought one was the sun and the other the moon, and I yelled and shouted and made such a row that they had to change! I couldn't stand having the sun blazing at night, and the moon by day. Funny, wasn't it?"Nell was looking into the fire."Where were you?""House in Gowan Square, you know.""But who—nursed you?""Those two poor things. I believe I led them an awful life—when I wasn't off my head, too! I got so beastly sick of it—" He stopped abruptly."Wasn't there anyone—I mean—your aunt—" But her voice died on the word, as she pictured that lady, with her bangles, her chains, rattling in a sick room.A twinkle crept into his eye."They hate sick rooms, and," gravely, "they excited me."She smiled."So you just had those two nurses?""And the doctor. I've got an awfully decent cousin—second cousin—down in Cornwall. She's married—has two little girls—she'd have come up, but one of them was ill."She was silent."I'm awfully strong, though," he protested anxiously. "Yesterday I whined to the doctor because I can't do things same as I used to, yet, and he said, 'If you weren't as strong as a horse, you'd have been dead twice over by now!' He's got Irish blood in his veins, I fancy!"She smiled absently."Why aren't you down in the country?""I did go for a while, but you see—well, I'm going up to Cambridge as soon as Dr. Murray will let me, and I don't want to get too far behind. So I'm attending classes and that sort of thing—as much as I'm allowed," with a rueful smile."I think," said Nell, in her charming, softest voice, "you're just a hero!""A—awhat? Good Heavens, what have I done? What have I been saying?"She turned suddenly, unheeding his ludicrous dismay, and stretching across, opened a little drawer in the table. She took out a bundle of photographs and handed him one."That's Acushla!" she said with a queer little breathless note in her voice. "I had to sell her."He glanced at her swiftly, and looked down at the photograph. Nell was making amends. In her rush of disgust at all the unkind things she had thought of him, in the pity that made her heart ache, she instinctively took him close as a friend."That is the Colleen Bawn. She belonged to all of us. Dad bought her for fourteen pounds of an awful old pedler! She looked dreadful; you could count all her ribs—and dirty—and her tail! Well, it isn't very grand there, but I don't believe it had more than fourteen hairs in it when dad bought her—pound a hair, we always said. She was lame, and had a great bare patch on her right shoulder. But we fattened her up, and groomed her, and you wouldn't believe how she could go! And jump! She'd jump anything, if she saw anything in front of her. That was her fad. She couldn't stand anyone's getting in front of her. She's taken me clear over a wall that even Denis's best hunter can't manage without knocking down a stone or two. She's rather big and bony, but there's something rather fine about her head, I think."He nodded."That's a jolly colt!""He is Sheila Pat's. We haven't sold him. We dared not. I believe it would have made her ill—really ill, I mean. The parting nearly did, in any case."She showed him all the photographs—even the dim ones that needed to be looked at very closely, when, with time and patience, a horse, perhaps several horses, mostly jumping or galloping, and riders would slowly disentangle themselves from the surrounding gloom."I confess that our climate isn't an ideal one for taking photographs!" she laughed. "Most of those were taken in the rain or a mist." She rose. "I want to show you something else."She fetched a little oil painting of Acushla."By Jove!" he said, and studied it in silence."Mr. O'Neil—my master—says it's the best thing I've ever done.""It's splendid! She's a beauty! Just look at her legs—and the colour. What a glorious little beast she is! I don't know when I've seen a more beautiful head and shape.""Mr. O'Neil came upon me just when I'd done that, and he burst out, 'Good! Good! Good!' He doesn't believe in praise, you know, and directly he'd said that he pulled himself up. 'But might be better!' he said, and he glared into my face, and groaned out: 'I believe you're pleased with it! I wash my hands of you! You'll never be a painter! Go away! You should be weeping that you can't do better!' It took all my eloquence to convince him that I didn't think it was good, only better work than I had been doing. But I made him laugh, by representing how pleased he'd be if he always came upon me sitting weeping into my pinny, and then he cheered up, and slanged my poor little painting with tremendous energy!""Beast!""He's a dear old man, but he has a theory that complacency is the curse of art. He declares that talent is choked by it, and so never rises. You should always be dissatisfied with your work—always feel youmustdo better, or die in the attempt. Now, if I were to listen to your praise, it would do me incalculable harm, according to him."He smiled whimsically."I don't think even he'd mind my praise!""I don't agree with him," she pursued thoughtfully, "unless, of course, a person is naturally conceited and complacent, and then I don't think it matters one way or the other; the person will remain complacent anyway. But I think a little praise cheers one up! I'm just delighted you think that good!""It's more than good," earnestly."Oh, if he could hear you! And me!"She stooped to pick up from the floor a sheet of foreign note-paper scrawled over with large uneven writing."Sheila Pat," she said, "to-morrow's mail day. We write an awful lot. But we can't get any letters from them yet."She took the photographs from him and put them away in the drawer."Thank you," he said quietly.She turned to him with a little laugh, and held out her hand."I've been awfully mean—had mean thoughts about you—been rude to you." Her words tumbled out in a soft little jumble. "I'm sorry."He grasped her hand."Not you—I say—" he stammered."I'm going to call you Ted, and you may call me Nell. I feel as if I've known you for ages, and the other's so stiff, and we'll be friends 'till the sun has burnt itself down to the bigness of a farthing rushlight,' shall we?""Er—yes—"She teased him, her dimples dancing."Say, 'Yes, Nell!'""Yes, N-N-Nell!"CHAPTER XVIIIChristmas was drawing very near. The stock of stuffed animals was growing large; toys overflowed the Stronghold. A pillow-case, purloined from the bed in the spare room, did duty as a bag to hold some of them. In a spasm of artistic joy Nell had painted a rough sketch of a hunting scene on it, and they lived in terror that Miss Kezia would see it.The doll's house was furnished throughout; in the bedroom two little dolls in white night-dresses lay in bed. In the dining room three sat at the table. They had intended to dress two more for the nursery, but Nell, having put in the last stitch on the fifth doll, flung it down on to the table, jumped up: "Denis, come dance with me! Not another hateful little doll will I touch! They drive me crazy! Little, fiddley things! I'm doing enough sewing lately to canonise me as Saint Eileen of the needle!"They waltzed out on to the landing and down the stairs, improvising fancy steps to a tune Denis carolled out as they went. Into the kitchen they came, round the table they danced, while Sarah gaped."Bet I can do an Irish jig on the garden wall!" declared Denis suddenly."So can I!"It was in the height of the jig that Miss Kezia and a friend who was paying her an afternoon call looked forth into the garden. All along, back windows were up, and heads looking out. For Denis had a beautiful voice and he sang as he danced—rather spasmodically, as one foot and then the other landed on space instead of the wall, but very heartily.Miss Kezia's friend was a somewhat prim and stiff-necked matron, and she was a good deal scandalised. Miss Kezia was considerably annoyed; but before she could open the window, the jig stopped abruptly, Denis leapt from the wall and after him Nell, and both started in chase of a small figure which had come out into the garden and defied them to catch it.Mysterious shopping expeditions took place about this time. The Atom, not allowed to go out alone, chose Sarah as her escort while she purchased Christmas presents. Miss Kezia unexpectedly gave her sanction to the arrangement. A queer sort of mutual recognition of worth had grown up between the Atom and Miss Kezia. Sheila Pat discussed her gravely with Nell."I do think she's worthy, Nell. Sarah says she is, and she says she wouldn't leave here because you never know what you might get. She's veryjust, you see. Some mistresses are awful; they blame you for things like the taps leakin' and the chimney smokin', when they're cross. Aunt Kezia never does. I think she's rather nice to talk to sometimes," thoughtfully, "and she's very honest—she told me she was always quite ugly, and she's got some beautiful animals all worked in silk that her mother did when she was quite young, and you see, she can't help bein' borned Scotch!"On her part Miss Kezia went so far as, "I do not understand Sheila, but there is a solid layer of goodness beneath her eccentricities." The truth was, Miss Kezia, angry, bewildered, worried, as she so often was in these days, nevertheless found an unexpected partiality developing within her for the young O'Briens,—an unexpected recognition of their charm.What with finishing presents, buying them, packing up the hospital toys, and fighting various little imps who whispered things about this time last year, they found those days before Christmas pretty full.One evening some carollers came and sang lustily in the road outside the house. As they began, the front door was opened and Miss Kezia's grim voice bade them begone. But upstairs there was a wild scamper to a bedroom window—it was flung up—and pennies came hurtling through the air—"Go on! Please, go on!" and voices at the window joined lustily in. For the song the carollers sang was "Rory O'More.""Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn,He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn;He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.'Now, Rory, be aisy,' sweet Kathleen would cry,Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye,'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about;Faith, you've teaz'd till I've put on my cloak inside out.''Oh, jewel!' says Rory, 'that same is the wayYou've thrated my heart for this many a day,And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More."The voices at the window started the next verse:—"'Indeed, then,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the like,For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound.''Faith,' says Rory, 'I'd rather love you than the ground.''Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go;Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!''Oh!' says Rory, 'that same I'm delighted to hear,For dhrames always go by contraries, my dear.''Now, Rory, leave off, sir. You'll hug me no more;That's eight times to-day, that you've kissed me before.''Then here goes another,' says he, 'to make sure,For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'More."As the last words rang out Nell flung down a sixpence."A Merry Christmas!""Shure and 'tis afther the same I'd be wishing you entirely, at all, at all!" came the sonorous response. "Shure and 'tis the Oirish are afther being the gradely folks on this earrth, me beautiful honour, your leddyship!""You're not Irish!" shrilled out an indignant little voice."Och, begorra, and would yez be insulting us now, at all, at all, your honour? Shure 'tis the Oirish we are, thin, and long may they live, hoots toots! Ochone!"Nell flung down a piece of holly she was wearing in her waist belt; she flung it waveringly, overcome with mirth.Denis shouted aloud. Of all of them the Atom alone refused to even smile."I object to hypocrites," she said dignifiedly."I wonder how they found out we are Irish?" pondered Molly."I suppose it was just an odd coincidence—their singing 'Rory O'More,' and then they found out by our brogues!" laughed Nell.It was that same evening that, fired by "Rory O'More," they left their toys and trooped down to the cold drawing-room and sang and played. Sheila Pat, leaving the room for something, found Herr Schmidt on the mat outside the door, listening."I lof ze music so much!" he excused himself hurriedly. "It was so beautiful—the lovely voices—full of music! You will pardon me, Fräulein?"Sheila Pat bowed."With the greatest pleasure. Please come in."Later on he begged them to use his piano any time they wished."Wemustfinish packing the hospital toys to-night!" said Nell, and sped up the stairs.A few minutes later Ted came in."How are you, N-N-Nell?""Quite well, thank you, T-T-Ted.""Sheila Pat," tweaking her pig-tail, "don't they grow straight pig-tails in Ireland?""Please don't be foolish," said Sheila Pat, ramming a fur rabbit into the box.He looked at Nell and raised his eyebrows."Sheila Pat's cross still, aren't you, Atom?" Nell said."I'm innoyed.""Tell me about it," he begged.Denis glanced up from a letter he was writing, then bent his head again."Two wicked hypocrites came and they told stories, too. He said he was Irish!Irish, was it? Sure 'twas sooner goriller-monkeys they'd be! They sang outside, and we gave them some money. Did they think we were unborned babies that they'd be sayin' they were Irish?""What a double-dyed villain!" Ted said with grave disapproval."I'd knewyouwouldn't be laughin' and thinkin' it funny." She paused to watch Nell.Nell was coming straight at Ted; once in front of him, she pointed a tragic forefinger first at a sixpence that dangled on his watch-chain, and then at a spray of holly in his button-hole.He gazed back at her amusedly."Sheila Pat! Molly! Out on him! Oh, the thraitor! The wicked thraitor! Don't you see? It was Ted—Ted Lancaster! Behold, the holly! Behold, my ill-gotten sixpence! Mine own familiar friend! What shall we do to him? Girls, what shall we do to him?"Sheila Pat, her face scarlet, ran at him, and tried futilely to shake him. He seized her and swung her aloft. From her lofty perch she scornfully attacked him. "Sure I would have thought you'd be spakin' it better than that!Howold are you? O dear, what great boobies these English boys are! Hoots toots, indeed! And who was the other monkey-kangaroo, then?""Little Foster. You don't know him. Thought it looked better to have two, and, you see, I was too shy to sing all alone! Aren't you going to forgive me, acushlums? Och, begorra, I've been learning that 'Rory O'More' a whole week all for your benefit!""Nell,"—he began presently."Bravo, Ted!" she interpolated.He flushed and laughed."Well, Nell," he resumed, "how did you find out so quickly?""That gossoon," nodding at Denis. "I saw by his face. He never can keep anything in. And to think heknew! And let me waste my substance on a wicked fraud of a Ted!""I recognised him almost at once," observed Denis.Nell's eye had grown suddenly absent, preoccupied with thoughts of something else. She rose and sidled, with what she thought deep artfulness, but which a child could have seen through, toward the artistic pillow-case. She had caught sight of the deep emerald green silk tie she was knitting for Ted sticking up in full view, gazing brazenly at Ted himself, she declared.Fortunately he was engaged just then with the Atom, so saw nothing of Nell's transparent manoeuvring."Sure the very babies themselves," said Sheila Pat, earnestly, "speak it better than that!""Do they, Sheila Pat? How clever the Irish must be!""Of course they are," said Sheila Pat.CHAPTER XIXChristmas came with a rush in the end."Santa Claus," said Nell, "has not a well-regulated mind. For the weeks before Christmas he rides at a leisurely trot, looking about him, smiling. Then suddenly he finds there isn't time for half he's got to do, and off he gallops—over hedges of toys—ditches of sweets—up hills of mince pies and puddings—sends us all scattering here and there on his errands—I wonder why he always muddles it like that?""Perhaps the old chap's Irish," suggested Ted.Christmas eve found her with the painting of Kate Kearney for Sarah not finished; with Ted's tie in the same condition; with Denis's present still unbought; with half Molly's not got yet, and innumerable little bits and things to do. The others were in much the same case.But all the hospital toys had been sent off, and Mrs. Jones presented with the doll's house and other presents for Benny and Janie and Susan. On that last day Sheila Pat went out with Sarah. (Never had Sarah enjoyed herself so much as on these shopping expeditions, during which sometimes a smug-faced young man of an infinite respectability met them, nearly overcome with surprise at the strange coincidence of his being just there while they were just there, too.)—Sheila Pat went out with Sarah and bought Ted's present. She came home, fairly glowing and clasping a small parcel tight in both hands."Oh, Nell!" she said.Nell bundled something under her pinafore and tried to look innocent."What is it, Atom?""I've got a present for Ted—I've been lookin' and lookin'—oh, Nell!""Show it me."The Atom was unwrapping the paper. Beneath was a little cardboard box; in it lay a vividly green painted shamrock with a large diamond in the centre. It represented a tie pin, and had cost a shilling and a halfpenny.For Stewart she bought two large cabbages. "Won't Peter have a lovely Christmas dinner?" she queried ecstatically. "And he'll be so sad, you see, with Tommy and his mother away a whole week!"That afternoon Nell and Molly came suddenly face to face in a draper's shop, and exactly as they did it, up came the bland shop-walker to know what they wanted. He stared with dignified disapproval, as they stood there and laughed and laughed. Nell wanted a charming little useless fancy box for Molly that she had seen in the window, and Molly wanted a little handkerchief for Nell."I—er—oh!" Nell laughed ridiculously and Molly turned, giggling, and fled from the shop.Nell made a valiant effort, "I want a little bancy fox—oh!" and she fled after Molly.Outside she stood and laughed helplessly. A little way farther up the street she could see Molly, and the knowledge that she too was trying to overcome her giggles made matters much worse.Neither she nor Molly alluded to that meeting till after Christmas. There was a very strict O'Brien etiquette on such matters.On that Christmas Eve they gave pennies away recklessly to poor children. They treated a whole family—mother two little girls, a little boy, and a baby, all eminently clean, but hungry-faced—to a hearty tea at a confectioner's, and presented them with a bunch of holly, and a shilling over and beyond the tea. They bought an old man with crutches half a pound of his favourite tobacco, because he was gazing longingly at it in a tobacconist's window. His poor old eyes grew very watery as he accepted it and declared with shaky fervour that "King Edward himself couldn't have given him anything he'd like better."The account-book was thrust to the back of a drawer, and to the back of everyone's mind as well. They locked themselves mysteriously into their bedrooms; and there was a sudden dearth of paper and string. The whole day was rush and hurry and bustle and fun.In the evening Nell put her last stitch into Ted's tie."'Tis done! 'Tis done! Denis, go forth! Bring thy friend to our hospitable portals and bid him enter. Guide him to this our Stronghold, and leave him with us. Retire thyself to thy bedroom, where, secreted beneath thy bed, thou shalt find a fair fat stocking, once a foot-ball stocking that clad thine own unworthy leg. Take it to thy manly bosom, creep down the stairs, and hie thee to the house of that same Ted Lancaster, our very good friend. Crave speech with the stately butler—""Halt! Is thy servant without his proper complement of brains that thou giv'st him his directions twice over? Or is it as thy servant with humility suspects, merely to give exercise to the pendulum within thy coral lips?""Oh, hurry up!" Molly expostulated. "It's getting late!""I go to fetch the British Ted!" Denis vanished.They found paper and pen, and Nell wrote, "Not to be looked into till the morning;" then they began to collect their various presents to Ted, and poke them well down in a foot-ball stocking of Denis's."Now for the trimmings!" said Nell. "The rattle—in you go! Farthing dolly. Packet of my toffee. Six little pink jube-jube mice. ABC bricks. India-rubber tailless donkey.Isthat 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,Iknow! 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? Iknowit's you—I felt you! Oh, you littlebeast—whywon't you speak?Dojust say itisyou, 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 timesTo clear a Paddy's brain!Once more to make sureAnd now for luck again!""Five times is beyond me—in the dark.Iknow! 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 youareall 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 Iknewshe'd do that!"
CHAPTER XVII
Nell hardly paused to breathe. Standing before her easel, the easel dragged into the window, the curtains tugged back, she worked away with a rapid brush.
"Mr. Lancaster, missansir!" Sarah announced with an air.
"Oh, how are you? Do you mind waiting a minute?" She did not even glance round.
Silence reigned.
Then she flung down her brush with a sigh, stepped back and into Ted Lancaster's arms.
"Oh!" She gave a little laugh and turned round. "I've been rude, haven't I? But I did so want to catch that bit of grudging daylight. Denis is out with the others. He got off early to-day."
"Yes, I know. I thought I'd catch him. I wanted to ask him if he'd come round this evening."
She held out painty fingers.
"I can't even shake hands! And why did you stand there all the time?"
"I've been watching you."
"I hope you found it interesting."
"I did. I like the little dabs you do with your brush on the front of your pinafore up at the right-hand side."
She laughed.
"I make myself very painty."
He was studying her painting earnestly.
"It's just a study of an old white horse a milkman—a friend of Sheila Pat's—has. I spent the morning in his stable. He's invalided home on account of a lame leg. I was just putting a few finishing touches from memory."
"He's splendid."
"He was a glorious model—but difficult. There's any amount of drawing in him. I'm going again to-morrow, only you see, if Aunt Kezia were to find out, I feel sure she'd forbid me, and—well, I suppose there would be ructions then, because she'd forbid me to go, and I'm going to finish him down to the last hair on his tail. I know she'll catch me. I walk out, canvas and easel, paint-box and all, as bold as Larry Hoolahan himself. Only Aunt Kezia's worse than any shape the fairies ever took!"
"Who's the gentleman?"
"Oh, he was a piper who was afraid of nothing." She picked up her brush again, and worked a little on the head. "He wasn't afraid even of the fairies, and actually won the good-will of the chief of them on Knocksheogonna."
"Would you mind saying it again?" he suggested.
She smiled.
"It means 'the Hill of the Fairy Calf.' I'm spoiling this," she put down her palette and brush. "I'll show you my rendering of some of the shapes the fairy took to scare the poor herdsmen away. They resented cattle being herded on their ground, you see."
She started rummaging in a big old untidy portfolio. She handed him a sheet of paper covered with rough sketches in water colour.
"By Jove, that Hooligan must have had a good nerve to stand those."
"You're not to call him that. I like him. That's where she turned herself into a man with a lame leg and a bull's head, with flames playing all round it. There she's a big horse, with eagle's wings and a dragon's tail, with fire coming out of her mouth."
"This beats them all, I think!"
"Oh, yes, she's a huge ape with a turkey's tail and duck's feet, there."
"I don't need explanations, thanks," he observed with dignified politeness.
"No? What is that, then?"
She pointed to a sketch.
He studied it earnestly.
"Er—it's a conglomeration—boots—" he paused, reddened, "and a collar."
She laughed.
"It's meant for a salmon with a cravat round its neck, and a pair of top-boots, only I can't draw a salmon to save my life!"
He looked injured.
"I knew what all the rest were!"
She took the sheet from him. He moved towards the door.
"Will you give O'Brien my message?"
"You're not going! Please put up with me till the others come in. I'll just go and wash my hands. Sit down."
She came back presently, gave a piece of coal a poke with her foot, sat down, looked into the red heart of the fire, then across at him.
"Do you really like a motor better than a horse?" she said.
He stared at her, astonished.
"A motor—better than a horse? Great Scott, no! What made you ask?"
"Well, you drive about in a motor."
"Oh, yes, the governor has a ripping car. And for getting about the country—real long trips, you know—they're splendid. But of course, they don't come under the same heading as horses at all."
"I've been hoarding that up against you," she declared frankly.
"Have you?" He looked amused. "It seems so queer to me—I never look upon them in the same light at all."
"Motors are horrid things."
"I don't think so."
"The dust—the smell—"
"Don't affect you when you're in one."
"But they affect other people."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"They're real selfish things!" he laughed. "When you're motoring, you don't care a hang for that sort of thing. You just go tearing along—monarch of all you survey."
"And—dogs?"
He smiled. "I've never run over one yet, unless they die like martyrs without a groan."
"Well, they may beuseful," she conceded. "But the feeling can't be anything like the glory of a gallop—a canter—"
"No, it isn't. Nothing can come anywhere near a decent mount, and a good stretch of country before you."
They fell silent for a while.
Nell, furtively studying him, as he sat forward in his chair looking into the fire, broke out at last.
"Mr. Lancaster, you've no business to look so—so pale—so done up!"
He flushed.
"Do I? Overwork, perhaps."
She bent toward him; she said softly:—
"Do you mind my noticing? Denis always lets me fuss if he cuts his finger or anything like that."
"I was riding this morning," the words seemed to be dragged from him against his will; "I expect I overdid it."
Her pretty eyes opened wide.
"You needn't think I'm just a weakly idiot," he burst out angrily.
"I don't. You've had an illness?"
He nodded.
She sighed suggestively. He looked at her, and smiled unwillingly.
"It was nearly six months ago now." He frowned and paused. "Accident—horse had to be shot."
"Oh!" She waited.
"It was a beastly motor omnibus—poor old Pilot bolted. We had a fight—I'd nearly got him under—and a fool of a boy came tearing round a corner yelling and waving a hoop in the air. Pilot bolted straight into a shop window—had to be shot."
She shivered. "And you?"
"Oh, I broke a leg, and cracked my skull, and broke a few ribs. Went to bed for a while. Then got up—went out for a walk—got drenched through—pneumonia and pleurisy—eternal bed. Hard lines, wasn't it?"
"Who nursed you?"
"Two of 'em. When I was a bit off my head you wouldn't believe how they worried me. You see, one had a red face and a blaze of red-gold hair, and the other had a great, pale moon-face and black hair, and the red-gold one was the night nurse, and the pale one the day nurse. I got sort of mixed and thought one was the sun and the other the moon, and I yelled and shouted and made such a row that they had to change! I couldn't stand having the sun blazing at night, and the moon by day. Funny, wasn't it?"
Nell was looking into the fire.
"Where were you?"
"House in Gowan Square, you know."
"But who—nursed you?"
"Those two poor things. I believe I led them an awful life—when I wasn't off my head, too! I got so beastly sick of it—" He stopped abruptly.
"Wasn't there anyone—I mean—your aunt—" But her voice died on the word, as she pictured that lady, with her bangles, her chains, rattling in a sick room.
A twinkle crept into his eye.
"They hate sick rooms, and," gravely, "they excited me."
She smiled.
"So you just had those two nurses?"
"And the doctor. I've got an awfully decent cousin—second cousin—down in Cornwall. She's married—has two little girls—she'd have come up, but one of them was ill."
She was silent.
"I'm awfully strong, though," he protested anxiously. "Yesterday I whined to the doctor because I can't do things same as I used to, yet, and he said, 'If you weren't as strong as a horse, you'd have been dead twice over by now!' He's got Irish blood in his veins, I fancy!"
She smiled absently.
"Why aren't you down in the country?"
"I did go for a while, but you see—well, I'm going up to Cambridge as soon as Dr. Murray will let me, and I don't want to get too far behind. So I'm attending classes and that sort of thing—as much as I'm allowed," with a rueful smile.
"I think," said Nell, in her charming, softest voice, "you're just a hero!"
"A—awhat? Good Heavens, what have I done? What have I been saying?"
She turned suddenly, unheeding his ludicrous dismay, and stretching across, opened a little drawer in the table. She took out a bundle of photographs and handed him one.
"That's Acushla!" she said with a queer little breathless note in her voice. "I had to sell her."
He glanced at her swiftly, and looked down at the photograph. Nell was making amends. In her rush of disgust at all the unkind things she had thought of him, in the pity that made her heart ache, she instinctively took him close as a friend.
"That is the Colleen Bawn. She belonged to all of us. Dad bought her for fourteen pounds of an awful old pedler! She looked dreadful; you could count all her ribs—and dirty—and her tail! Well, it isn't very grand there, but I don't believe it had more than fourteen hairs in it when dad bought her—pound a hair, we always said. She was lame, and had a great bare patch on her right shoulder. But we fattened her up, and groomed her, and you wouldn't believe how she could go! And jump! She'd jump anything, if she saw anything in front of her. That was her fad. She couldn't stand anyone's getting in front of her. She's taken me clear over a wall that even Denis's best hunter can't manage without knocking down a stone or two. She's rather big and bony, but there's something rather fine about her head, I think."
He nodded.
"That's a jolly colt!"
"He is Sheila Pat's. We haven't sold him. We dared not. I believe it would have made her ill—really ill, I mean. The parting nearly did, in any case."
She showed him all the photographs—even the dim ones that needed to be looked at very closely, when, with time and patience, a horse, perhaps several horses, mostly jumping or galloping, and riders would slowly disentangle themselves from the surrounding gloom.
"I confess that our climate isn't an ideal one for taking photographs!" she laughed. "Most of those were taken in the rain or a mist." She rose. "I want to show you something else."
She fetched a little oil painting of Acushla.
"By Jove!" he said, and studied it in silence.
"Mr. O'Neil—my master—says it's the best thing I've ever done."
"It's splendid! She's a beauty! Just look at her legs—and the colour. What a glorious little beast she is! I don't know when I've seen a more beautiful head and shape."
"Mr. O'Neil came upon me just when I'd done that, and he burst out, 'Good! Good! Good!' He doesn't believe in praise, you know, and directly he'd said that he pulled himself up. 'But might be better!' he said, and he glared into my face, and groaned out: 'I believe you're pleased with it! I wash my hands of you! You'll never be a painter! Go away! You should be weeping that you can't do better!' It took all my eloquence to convince him that I didn't think it was good, only better work than I had been doing. But I made him laugh, by representing how pleased he'd be if he always came upon me sitting weeping into my pinny, and then he cheered up, and slanged my poor little painting with tremendous energy!"
"Beast!"
"He's a dear old man, but he has a theory that complacency is the curse of art. He declares that talent is choked by it, and so never rises. You should always be dissatisfied with your work—always feel youmustdo better, or die in the attempt. Now, if I were to listen to your praise, it would do me incalculable harm, according to him."
He smiled whimsically.
"I don't think even he'd mind my praise!"
"I don't agree with him," she pursued thoughtfully, "unless, of course, a person is naturally conceited and complacent, and then I don't think it matters one way or the other; the person will remain complacent anyway. But I think a little praise cheers one up! I'm just delighted you think that good!"
"It's more than good," earnestly.
"Oh, if he could hear you! And me!"
She stooped to pick up from the floor a sheet of foreign note-paper scrawled over with large uneven writing.
"Sheila Pat," she said, "to-morrow's mail day. We write an awful lot. But we can't get any letters from them yet."
She took the photographs from him and put them away in the drawer.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She turned to him with a little laugh, and held out her hand.
"I've been awfully mean—had mean thoughts about you—been rude to you." Her words tumbled out in a soft little jumble. "I'm sorry."
He grasped her hand.
"Not you—I say—" he stammered.
"I'm going to call you Ted, and you may call me Nell. I feel as if I've known you for ages, and the other's so stiff, and we'll be friends 'till the sun has burnt itself down to the bigness of a farthing rushlight,' shall we?"
"Er—yes—"
She teased him, her dimples dancing.
"Say, 'Yes, Nell!'"
"Yes, N-N-Nell!"
CHAPTER XVIII
Christmas was drawing very near. The stock of stuffed animals was growing large; toys overflowed the Stronghold. A pillow-case, purloined from the bed in the spare room, did duty as a bag to hold some of them. In a spasm of artistic joy Nell had painted a rough sketch of a hunting scene on it, and they lived in terror that Miss Kezia would see it.
The doll's house was furnished throughout; in the bedroom two little dolls in white night-dresses lay in bed. In the dining room three sat at the table. They had intended to dress two more for the nursery, but Nell, having put in the last stitch on the fifth doll, flung it down on to the table, jumped up: "Denis, come dance with me! Not another hateful little doll will I touch! They drive me crazy! Little, fiddley things! I'm doing enough sewing lately to canonise me as Saint Eileen of the needle!"
They waltzed out on to the landing and down the stairs, improvising fancy steps to a tune Denis carolled out as they went. Into the kitchen they came, round the table they danced, while Sarah gaped.
"Bet I can do an Irish jig on the garden wall!" declared Denis suddenly.
"So can I!"
It was in the height of the jig that Miss Kezia and a friend who was paying her an afternoon call looked forth into the garden. All along, back windows were up, and heads looking out. For Denis had a beautiful voice and he sang as he danced—rather spasmodically, as one foot and then the other landed on space instead of the wall, but very heartily.
Miss Kezia's friend was a somewhat prim and stiff-necked matron, and she was a good deal scandalised. Miss Kezia was considerably annoyed; but before she could open the window, the jig stopped abruptly, Denis leapt from the wall and after him Nell, and both started in chase of a small figure which had come out into the garden and defied them to catch it.
Mysterious shopping expeditions took place about this time. The Atom, not allowed to go out alone, chose Sarah as her escort while she purchased Christmas presents. Miss Kezia unexpectedly gave her sanction to the arrangement. A queer sort of mutual recognition of worth had grown up between the Atom and Miss Kezia. Sheila Pat discussed her gravely with Nell.
"I do think she's worthy, Nell. Sarah says she is, and she says she wouldn't leave here because you never know what you might get. She's veryjust, you see. Some mistresses are awful; they blame you for things like the taps leakin' and the chimney smokin', when they're cross. Aunt Kezia never does. I think she's rather nice to talk to sometimes," thoughtfully, "and she's very honest—she told me she was always quite ugly, and she's got some beautiful animals all worked in silk that her mother did when she was quite young, and you see, she can't help bein' borned Scotch!"
On her part Miss Kezia went so far as, "I do not understand Sheila, but there is a solid layer of goodness beneath her eccentricities." The truth was, Miss Kezia, angry, bewildered, worried, as she so often was in these days, nevertheless found an unexpected partiality developing within her for the young O'Briens,—an unexpected recognition of their charm.
What with finishing presents, buying them, packing up the hospital toys, and fighting various little imps who whispered things about this time last year, they found those days before Christmas pretty full.
One evening some carollers came and sang lustily in the road outside the house. As they began, the front door was opened and Miss Kezia's grim voice bade them begone. But upstairs there was a wild scamper to a bedroom window—it was flung up—and pennies came hurtling through the air—"Go on! Please, go on!" and voices at the window joined lustily in. For the song the carollers sang was "Rory O'More."
"Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn,He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn;He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.'Now, Rory, be aisy,' sweet Kathleen would cry,Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye,'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about;Faith, you've teaz'd till I've put on my cloak inside out.''Oh, jewel!' says Rory, 'that same is the wayYou've thrated my heart for this many a day,And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More."
"Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn,He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn;He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.'Now, Rory, be aisy,' sweet Kathleen would cry,Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye,'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about;Faith, you've teaz'd till I've put on my cloak inside out.''Oh, jewel!' says Rory, 'that same is the wayYou've thrated my heart for this many a day,And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More."
"Young Rory O'More courted Kathaleen bawn,
He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the dawn;
He wish'd in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,
And he thought the best way to do that was to tease.
'Now, Rory, be aisy,' sweet Kathleen would cry,
Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye,
'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm about;
Faith, you've teaz'd till I've put on my cloak inside out.'
'Oh, jewel!' says Rory, 'that same is the way
You've thrated my heart for this many a day,
And 'tis plaz'd that I am, and why not, to be sure?
For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More."
The voices at the window started the next verse:—
"'Indeed, then,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the like,For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound.''Faith,' says Rory, 'I'd rather love you than the ground.''Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go;Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!''Oh!' says Rory, 'that same I'm delighted to hear,For dhrames always go by contraries, my dear.''Now, Rory, leave off, sir. You'll hug me no more;That's eight times to-day, that you've kissed me before.''Then here goes another,' says he, 'to make sure,For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'More."
"'Indeed, then,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the like,For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound.''Faith,' says Rory, 'I'd rather love you than the ground.''Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go;Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!''Oh!' says Rory, 'that same I'm delighted to hear,For dhrames always go by contraries, my dear.''Now, Rory, leave off, sir. You'll hug me no more;That's eight times to-day, that you've kissed me before.''Then here goes another,' says he, 'to make sure,For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'More."
"'Indeed, then,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the like,
For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike;
The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound.'
'Faith,' says Rory, 'I'd rather love you than the ground.'
'Now, Rory, I'll cry, if you don't let me go;
Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!'
'Oh!' says Rory, 'that same I'm delighted to hear,
For dhrames always go by contraries, my dear.'
'Now, Rory, leave off, sir. You'll hug me no more;
That's eight times to-day, that you've kissed me before.'
'Then here goes another,' says he, 'to make sure,
For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory O'More."
As the last words rang out Nell flung down a sixpence.
"A Merry Christmas!"
"Shure and 'tis afther the same I'd be wishing you entirely, at all, at all!" came the sonorous response. "Shure and 'tis the Oirish are afther being the gradely folks on this earrth, me beautiful honour, your leddyship!"
"You're not Irish!" shrilled out an indignant little voice.
"Och, begorra, and would yez be insulting us now, at all, at all, your honour? Shure 'tis the Oirish we are, thin, and long may they live, hoots toots! Ochone!"
Nell flung down a piece of holly she was wearing in her waist belt; she flung it waveringly, overcome with mirth.
Denis shouted aloud. Of all of them the Atom alone refused to even smile.
"I object to hypocrites," she said dignifiedly.
"I wonder how they found out we are Irish?" pondered Molly.
"I suppose it was just an odd coincidence—their singing 'Rory O'More,' and then they found out by our brogues!" laughed Nell.
It was that same evening that, fired by "Rory O'More," they left their toys and trooped down to the cold drawing-room and sang and played. Sheila Pat, leaving the room for something, found Herr Schmidt on the mat outside the door, listening.
"I lof ze music so much!" he excused himself hurriedly. "It was so beautiful—the lovely voices—full of music! You will pardon me, Fräulein?"
Sheila Pat bowed.
"With the greatest pleasure. Please come in."
Later on he begged them to use his piano any time they wished.
"Wemustfinish packing the hospital toys to-night!" said Nell, and sped up the stairs.
A few minutes later Ted came in.
"How are you, N-N-Nell?"
"Quite well, thank you, T-T-Ted."
"Sheila Pat," tweaking her pig-tail, "don't they grow straight pig-tails in Ireland?"
"Please don't be foolish," said Sheila Pat, ramming a fur rabbit into the box.
He looked at Nell and raised his eyebrows.
"Sheila Pat's cross still, aren't you, Atom?" Nell said.
"I'm innoyed."
"Tell me about it," he begged.
Denis glanced up from a letter he was writing, then bent his head again.
"Two wicked hypocrites came and they told stories, too. He said he was Irish!Irish, was it? Sure 'twas sooner goriller-monkeys they'd be! They sang outside, and we gave them some money. Did they think we were unborned babies that they'd be sayin' they were Irish?"
"What a double-dyed villain!" Ted said with grave disapproval.
"I'd knewyouwouldn't be laughin' and thinkin' it funny." She paused to watch Nell.
Nell was coming straight at Ted; once in front of him, she pointed a tragic forefinger first at a sixpence that dangled on his watch-chain, and then at a spray of holly in his button-hole.
He gazed back at her amusedly.
"Sheila Pat! Molly! Out on him! Oh, the thraitor! The wicked thraitor! Don't you see? It was Ted—Ted Lancaster! Behold, the holly! Behold, my ill-gotten sixpence! Mine own familiar friend! What shall we do to him? Girls, what shall we do to him?"
Sheila Pat, her face scarlet, ran at him, and tried futilely to shake him. He seized her and swung her aloft. From her lofty perch she scornfully attacked him. "Sure I would have thought you'd be spakin' it better than that!Howold are you? O dear, what great boobies these English boys are! Hoots toots, indeed! And who was the other monkey-kangaroo, then?"
"Little Foster. You don't know him. Thought it looked better to have two, and, you see, I was too shy to sing all alone! Aren't you going to forgive me, acushlums? Och, begorra, I've been learning that 'Rory O'More' a whole week all for your benefit!"
"Nell,"—he began presently.
"Bravo, Ted!" she interpolated.
He flushed and laughed.
"Well, Nell," he resumed, "how did you find out so quickly?"
"That gossoon," nodding at Denis. "I saw by his face. He never can keep anything in. And to think heknew! And let me waste my substance on a wicked fraud of a Ted!"
"I recognised him almost at once," observed Denis.
Nell's eye had grown suddenly absent, preoccupied with thoughts of something else. She rose and sidled, with what she thought deep artfulness, but which a child could have seen through, toward the artistic pillow-case. She had caught sight of the deep emerald green silk tie she was knitting for Ted sticking up in full view, gazing brazenly at Ted himself, she declared.
Fortunately he was engaged just then with the Atom, so saw nothing of Nell's transparent manoeuvring.
"Sure the very babies themselves," said Sheila Pat, earnestly, "speak it better than that!"
"Do they, Sheila Pat? How clever the Irish must be!"
"Of course they are," said Sheila Pat.
CHAPTER XIX
Christmas came with a rush in the end.
"Santa Claus," said Nell, "has not a well-regulated mind. For the weeks before Christmas he rides at a leisurely trot, looking about him, smiling. Then suddenly he finds there isn't time for half he's got to do, and off he gallops—over hedges of toys—ditches of sweets—up hills of mince pies and puddings—sends us all scattering here and there on his errands—I wonder why he always muddles it like that?"
"Perhaps the old chap's Irish," suggested Ted.
Christmas eve found her with the painting of Kate Kearney for Sarah not finished; with Ted's tie in the same condition; with Denis's present still unbought; with half Molly's not got yet, and innumerable little bits and things to do. The others were in much the same case.
But all the hospital toys had been sent off, and Mrs. Jones presented with the doll's house and other presents for Benny and Janie and Susan. On that last day Sheila Pat went out with Sarah. (Never had Sarah enjoyed herself so much as on these shopping expeditions, during which sometimes a smug-faced young man of an infinite respectability met them, nearly overcome with surprise at the strange coincidence of his being just there while they were just there, too.)—Sheila Pat went out with Sarah and bought Ted's present. She came home, fairly glowing and clasping a small parcel tight in both hands.
"Oh, Nell!" she said.
Nell bundled something under her pinafore and tried to look innocent.
"What is it, Atom?"
"I've got a present for Ted—I've been lookin' and lookin'—oh, Nell!"
"Show it me."
The Atom was unwrapping the paper. Beneath was a little cardboard box; in it lay a vividly green painted shamrock with a large diamond in the centre. It represented a tie pin, and had cost a shilling and a halfpenny.
For Stewart she bought two large cabbages. "Won't Peter have a lovely Christmas dinner?" she queried ecstatically. "And he'll be so sad, you see, with Tommy and his mother away a whole week!"
That afternoon Nell and Molly came suddenly face to face in a draper's shop, and exactly as they did it, up came the bland shop-walker to know what they wanted. He stared with dignified disapproval, as they stood there and laughed and laughed. Nell wanted a charming little useless fancy box for Molly that she had seen in the window, and Molly wanted a little handkerchief for Nell.
"I—er—oh!" Nell laughed ridiculously and Molly turned, giggling, and fled from the shop.
Nell made a valiant effort, "I want a little bancy fox—oh!" and she fled after Molly.
Outside she stood and laughed helplessly. A little way farther up the street she could see Molly, and the knowledge that she too was trying to overcome her giggles made matters much worse.
Neither she nor Molly alluded to that meeting till after Christmas. There was a very strict O'Brien etiquette on such matters.
On that Christmas Eve they gave pennies away recklessly to poor children. They treated a whole family—mother two little girls, a little boy, and a baby, all eminently clean, but hungry-faced—to a hearty tea at a confectioner's, and presented them with a bunch of holly, and a shilling over and beyond the tea. They bought an old man with crutches half a pound of his favourite tobacco, because he was gazing longingly at it in a tobacconist's window. His poor old eyes grew very watery as he accepted it and declared with shaky fervour that "King Edward himself couldn't have given him anything he'd like better."
The account-book was thrust to the back of a drawer, and to the back of everyone's mind as well. They locked themselves mysteriously into their bedrooms; and there was a sudden dearth of paper and string. The whole day was rush and hurry and bustle and fun.
In the evening Nell put her last stitch into Ted's tie.
"'Tis done! 'Tis done! Denis, go forth! Bring thy friend to our hospitable portals and bid him enter. Guide him to this our Stronghold, and leave him with us. Retire thyself to thy bedroom, where, secreted beneath thy bed, thou shalt find a fair fat stocking, once a foot-ball stocking that clad thine own unworthy leg. Take it to thy manly bosom, creep down the stairs, and hie thee to the house of that same Ted Lancaster, our very good friend. Crave speech with the stately butler—"
"Halt! Is thy servant without his proper complement of brains that thou giv'st him his directions twice over? Or is it as thy servant with humility suspects, merely to give exercise to the pendulum within thy coral lips?"
"Oh, hurry up!" Molly expostulated. "It's getting late!"
"I go to fetch the British Ted!" Denis vanished.
They found paper and pen, and Nell wrote, "Not to be looked into till the morning;" then they began to collect their various presents to Ted, and poke them well down in a foot-ball stocking of Denis's.
"Now for the trimmings!" said Nell. "The rattle—in you go! Farthing dolly. Packet of my toffee. Six little pink jube-jube mice. ABC bricks. India-rubber tailless donkey.Isthat 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,Iknow! 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? Iknowit's you—I felt you! Oh, you littlebeast—whywon't you speak?Dojust say itisyou, 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 timesTo clear a Paddy's brain!Once more to make sureAnd now for luck again!"
"Turn round three timesTo clear a Paddy's brain!Once more to make sureAnd now for luck again!"
"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.Iknow! 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 youareall 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 Iknewshe'd do that!"