christmas approached. cynthia drove from one big shop to another, accompanied by mother or governess, and selected costly remembrances for her friends, betty trevor among the rest, for mrs alliot had at last been induced to call on the doctor’s wife, and so formally sanction the girls’ friendship. nan vanburgh crossed out every day as it passed on the calendar, and danced for joy at the thought of going “home” for the festival.

“it’s rather rough on me. i flattered myself that i was sufficient for your happiness,” her husband told her, “and—”

“so you are, you darling!” nan assured him gushingly. “i don’t want anyone else in the world but just you, and father, and mother, and jim, and the girls, and kitty, and ned, and your old uncle, and maud’s baby—and—”

“and cynthia alliot, and this newly-discovered family at number 14, and twenty governesses rolled into one as exemplified by miss beveridge, and a few score of friends scattered up and down the country! what it is to have married a little soul with a big heart!” cried gervase, shrugging his shoulders with an air of martyrdom, though, as a matter of fact, he was well satisfied with his place in his wife’s affection, and loved her all the more for remaining faithful to old claims.

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

“such a fag!” she declared. “look at me, i’ve done the whole thing in one afternoon! sallied out with my savings in my purse—two shillings pocket-money, one and three for waking miles in the morning, sixpence from mother—reward of merit for not biting my nails for a week—ninepence from norah for my pink silk tie (it cost half-a-crown, and i hated the old thing), four and sixpence altogether—and i got fifteen really handsome presents.”

“jill, you haven’t! it isn’t possible!”

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

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

“oh, well, it’s worth it! think of the presents!” cried jill gleefully. she skipped downstairs, and, sitting down before the writing-table in the drawing-room, pulled out a number of sheets of her mother’s writing-paper, on which she proceeded to indite a number of epistles, in which words and spaces were curiously mingled.

“dear aunt margaret,—thank you so much for the beautiful ... it is just what i wanted. it was so nice of you to send it to me. i think it is ... i hope you are quite well, and not having asthma any more,—your loving niece,—

“margaret.”

“darling cousin flo,—i am so awfully obliged to you for the lovely ... it is just what i wanted. i am so pleased to have it. it will just do for ... i think christmas is ripping, don’t you? please write soon to jill.”

“dear mrs gregory,—it is most kind of you to remember me with such a nice present. the ...is just what i wanted. i am much obliged to you for remembering me. has not christmas day been ... this year?—i am your loving little friend, margaret meredith trevor.”

“my own dear, darling norah,—what an angel you are to send me that perfectly ripping ... it is just exactly what i wanted, and i am so proud to have it. come round to-morrow and see my things. i’ve got ... altogether. isn’t that a lot? don’t you call this weather ...?—your own jill.”

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

“eh, what? too busy to hear me come in, were you? what’s the meaning of this sudden industry?” and, starting up, she beheld the red, parrot-like visage of general digby bending over her. this was not by any means the first visit which the general had paid in return for the “kind enquiries.” he was a lonely old man, and to spend a few minutes in the cheery atmosphere of a family made a pleasant break in his daily constitutional. mrs trevor was always pleased to welcome him, but as she was aware that it was not herself but the children who were the attraction, she did not hurry downstairs on occasions like the present.

“writing christmas letters, eh?” boomed the general loudly. “sending off your presents, i suppose. eh, what? thanking people for presents, do you say? that’s a bit previous, isn’t it? what’s the hurry?”

“oh, there’s always so much going on after christmas, when the boys are at home, and it’s such a bore sticking in the house writing letters. i use up the odd times before, in getting them as ready as i can, and then it only takes a minute to fill in the spaces.”

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

“where’s my letter?” he inquired. “i suppose there’s one addressed to me among all that number. was i as fortunate as the rest in sending just what was wanted? you are a young woman of a great many wants, it seems to me. tell you what now: i’ll strike a bargain! fill up the blanks, and i’ll see if i can come up to expectation! eh, what?”

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

“oh, you do, do you?” cried the general, beginning to shake again in the old, alarming, jelly-like fashion. “nothing like honesty in this world, my dear. well, well, we must see what we can do! i’ll bend my great mind to the question, and you shall know the result on christmas day.”

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

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

the general looked at the dismal little figure with a twinkling eye. already he had been introduced to three separate betty trevors, and it would be interesting to ascertain which of the various representations approached nearest to the reality. judging from miss betty’s conversation this afternoon, christmas would appear to be her bête noire throughout the year, and she could see no bright spot in the horizon. the presents which she had prepared were all failures; unlike jill, she wanted nothing in return; it was dull having “no one but ourselves” in the house on the great day, while, on the other hand, it would be horrid to have strangers. mrs vanburgh had gone off home to enjoy herself, and had left the “govies” in the charge of herself and cynthia alliot to “cheer up and entertain,” and how could they do it, pray, a couple of girls like themselves? she scowled quite fiercely at the general as she put the question, but he only chuckled in reply, having already been treated to the history of nan’s first ‘at home’ from the lips of an historian more sceptical than sympathetic.

“aha! those governesses! how many may they be? do you still entertain the few to conversation, and yourselves to the good things provided for the many?” he cried teasingly, whereupon betty assumed what she conceived to be an air of haughty reproach, and replied coldly—

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

“send them a christmas card, and be done with it,” cried jill callously. “you can get beauties for a halfpenny at the little sweet shop round the corner. i’ll sell you one i bought yesterday. convolvulus, and ‘may all your hours be filled with joy.’ just the thing you want!”

betty’s lip curled in disdain.

“so appropriate, isn’t it? so likely to be true!”

“all the more reason to wish for it,” maintained jill pertly. “what’s the good of wishing if you don’t wish something nice? you don’t want to take for granted that she is going on mumping and grumping all next year. something nice might happen to her, as well as to anyone else.”

“quite right, quite right! always expect the best, and prepare for the worst,” cried the general heartily. “now, i’ve a suggestion to make! there’s a big concert advertised to take place in the albert hall on the afternoon of boxing day. some friends of mine who are wandering abroad have a box there which is at my disposal when i choose to use it. i’m not going with you, mind—none of your governesses for me!—but i’ll give you the tickets, and you can make up a happy party, and get rid of some of your responsibilities, at least. how does that idea strike you, miss betty—eh, what?”

“oh, i—i love it! you are sweet!” gushed betty fervently. a box! the albert hall! herself the head of the party, the gracious dispenser of favours—it was almost too ecstatic to be believed! “the two governesses, cynthia and myself, miles, because he loves music, and we want someone to bring us home, and father, if he has time, for miles won’t come if he is the only male. that would be a delightful party!” she decided. there were points, after all, about being left “in charge?”