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 nobusinessto 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—""Dolook 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, "Iknow 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—hispresents!""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, itistrying 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 XXIOne 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 friendveryill?""No; influenza—low-spirited—wants Aunt Kezia.""Aren't these Scotch peoplequeer?" 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-addMush, 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—doyou?""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'sup?"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'renotto 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 seewhy," argued the Atom; "if she werereallyill, 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 yoursweetheart, 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, Iwillwash 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."Dirtyboy!" cried Nell, through the door. "Things arecookedin that!"Ted proudly brought forward a bowl for mixing the ingredients of cakes and puddings."It's forcakes! 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 andseethe 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, youdirtyboy!" 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 youreallyfinished? 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-taton 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,haveyou 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 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 nobusinessto 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—"
"Dolook 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, "Iknow 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—hispresents!"
"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, itistrying 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 friendveryill?"
"No; influenza—low-spirited—wants Aunt Kezia."
"Aren't these Scotch peoplequeer?" 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-addMush, mush, mush, tooral i-ay!There was ne'er a gossoon in the village,Dare thread on the tail of me coat!'"
"'Mush, mush, mush, tooral i-addMush, mush, mush, tooral i-ay!There was ne'er a gossoon in the village,Dare thread on the tail of me coat!'"
"'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—doyou?"
"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'sup?"
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'renotto 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 seewhy," argued the Atom; "if she werereallyill, 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 yoursweetheart, 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, Iwillwash 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.
"Dirtyboy!" cried Nell, through the door. "Things arecookedin that!"
Ted proudly brought forward a bowl for mixing the ingredients of cakes and puddings.
"It's forcakes! 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 andseethe 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, youdirtyboy!" 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 youreallyfinished? 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-taton 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,haveyou 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."