Christmas morning was clear and cold.
Belinda awoke late, and, as the realities crowded in upon her, shut her eyes and tried to dodge the fact that there was no one to wish her a merry Christmas.
She was crying softly into her pillow when the room door was opened cautiously and two ruddy Irish faces peered through the crack.
"A merry Christmas to ye, Miss!" shouted two voices rich in creamy brogue.
Belinda opened her eyes.
"Sure, Oi said to Rosie, 'It's a shame,' sez Oi, 'the young leddy up there wid divil a wan to wish her luck. Let's go up,' sez Oi. So we come."
Then Ellen, who was an excellent cook and a tough citizen, had the surprise of her life, for a slim, pretty girl sprang out of bed, threw her arms around the cook's portly form, and kissed the broad, red face. Rosie had her turn while Ellen was staggering under the shock.
"Bless you both," said Belinda, looking at them through wet eyes.
The cook opened and shut her mouth feebly, but her own eyes held a responsive moisture.
"Aarrah, now, was it ez bad ez that?" she asked with rough gentleness.