"Uncle Sidney and Aunt Lucy have very kindly invited you to Thorncroft," wrote Mrs. Hirst, "so you will return with Muriel, and will, I hope, have a pleasant holiday there. It is hard for us all to miss our Christmas together, but you must be a brave girl, darling, and look forward to seeing us at Easter instead. I cannot even write to you often, because I am nursing our invalids, and Father has to disinfect my letters carefully in the surgery before he considers it safe to forward them. Milly, however, shall write you a postcard every day, to say how we are, and you will be constantly in my thoughts, though I may not be able to do more than send you a brief message."
To Patty it seemed as if the sun had suddenly gone out. That she must forego all her home joys and spend the holidays with Muriel was indeed a great hardship.
"Muriel won't want me, I know," she sobbed, "and it won't seem like Christmas at all to have to spend it at Thorncroft. Oh, how I wish I could have gone home first, before the children were taken ill, and then I could have helped to nurse them! Easter is months and months off. I don't know how I'm going to live till I see them all again."
After one storm of grief, however, Patty, like a sensible girl, dried her eyes, and tried to put on a bright face and make the best of things as they were. It seemed no use bemoaning her misery, and spoiling all her friends' happiness by dwelling on her troubles, so she managed to interest herself in Enid's packing, and to sympathize with Jean's choice of Christmas presents, though it was hard to listen to the others' glad plans when her own had suffered such shipwreck. It is a great accomplishment to be able to smile outside when we are crying inside, and I don't believe Patty could have done it if she had not been so accustomed to forget her own side of a question, and engross herself in other people's affairs. As it was, her power of self-mastery helped her to be brave and cheery in spite of her disappointment; but it was not an easy task, and it cost her best efforts to smother her grief, and keep up to anything like her usual level of good spirits. It is sometimes more difficult to practise the little self-denials and do the unlauded acts of courage than to make one supreme sacrifice while the world applauds; so I think Patty deserved to be called a heroine for her small victory, which nobody noticed, just as much as if it had been a great one. She had, at any rate, one compensation to console her. Jean Bannerman also lived at Waverton, and would travel home with Muriel and herself, and she hoped it might be possible to see something of Jean during the holidays. The breaking-up day arrived at last, and Patty, after a warm good-bye to Enid, Winnie, and Avis, was put with her two companions under the guardianship of Miss Rowe, who escorted them to the junction, and saw them safely into the northern express. Even though she was not going to her own home, Patty felt rather cheered at leaving The Priory and starting upon a journey; and the prospect of Christmas and its attendant festivities was an enlivening one.
She had a kind welcome from her uncle and aunt, and her cousin Horace, who had returned from school the day before, also seemed pleased to see her. Patty always liked Horace much better than Muriel. He was far kinder to her, and would often ask her to help him with his photography, or to arrange his cases of beetles, butterflies, and moths, entertaining her the while with accounts of his adventures at school, some of which were of such a thrilling description that she suspected they were made up for her benefit. Muriel, who preferred to keep her brother to herself, was jealous of this intimacy; she did not want to include Patty in their family life, and though she did not dare to say so to her parents, she secretly resented her cousin's presence. The two girls were necessarily thrown much in each other's company, and so overbearing did Muriel prove sometimes, that it needed all Patty's self-restraint to prevent a quarrel. It was not pleasant to be ordered about, told to fetch and carry, and receive no thanks for her pains; and particularly disagreeable to be given to understand that she was an unwelcome visitor, who ought to consider herself very fortunate to have been asked at all. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Pearson had any idea how unkind Muriel was to Patty in private; they were proud of their pretty little daughter, and fondly liked to think she was everything they could desire: their love made them blind to small indications of character, and so long as they saw no glaring fault they thought all was well. Muriel from her babyhood had been accustomed to expect her own way in everything. Her father, mother, and brother had made a pet of her, and spoilt her so entirely that she had grown up a very selfish girl, and even the influence of school life, wholesome though it was, had not been able so far to undo the ill effects of her home training. The first few days at Thorncroft were naturally occupied with preparations for Christmas. Patty was very anxious to send some little gifts home to the children, and spent much time and thought planning how she could most advantageously lay out the few shillings of pocket money which she possessed. It was a difficult matter when there were so many presents required, and one which demanded serious consideration. In lack of any other confidant, she talked it over with Muriel.
"There's the tray-cloth for Mother, which I worked at school," she said. "That's quite finished, and it looks very nice, only a little crushed. Aunt Lucy says Emma shall iron it out for me. I wish I could think of something for Father. Can you suggest anything?"
Muriel shook her head.
"I can't," she replied. "I'm in the same difficulty nearly every year. There seems nothing you can give to a gentleman that he really cares for. I've made shaving cloths, and cigarette cases, and match-box holders, and heaps of other things for Father, and he always says 'Thank you!' and puts them away in his drawer, and never uses them. He must have a whole pile of my presents somewhere."
"I thought of a blotter," said Patty, "but I know it would only be left lying about in the surgery. Father has a stylo. pen, and hardly ever needs blotting-paper. The little ones give him useful things—boxes of matches, and railway guides, and cakes of soap."
"Cakes of soap!" laughed Muriel.