‘That’s all very well for you,’ growled Vivian; ‘you always were a bit of a muff, with your music, and your photographs, and your collections. “The paragon” the other boys call you behind your back, for they say that you haven’t enough spirit in you to do anything wrong.’
‘They had better say it to my face then, and I’ll give them what for, and you too for listening to such rot,’ said Ronald hotly; and then he laughed at his own vehemence. ‘Don’t let us quarrel on Christmas Eve,’ he went on pleasantly; ‘I’ll race you across the meadow.’
They set off at a run, and by the time they had reached the garden gate, hot and breathless, they had almost forgotten the cause of their anger.
‘There is mother at the window, and Dorothy,’ cried Vivian, waving his cap. ‘Doesn’t a lit-up room look jolly and comfortable when one is outside? After all, I am rather glad that we didn’t stay any longer at the lake, for I am awfully hungry, and I expect there is a scrumptious tea in the schoolroom.’
As they went into the hall of the long, low red house, a little figure in white ran out to meet them.
‘Hurry, quick!’ she lisped, ‘we’s going to have tea wif muvver, an’ then we’s going to dec’rate. Black has brought in such a lot of green stuff, heaps an’ heaps, all p’ickles. Dorothy knows, ’cause she hurted her fingers.’
‘Dorothy was well warned, so it was her own fault,’ said a clear voice behind her, and Mrs Armitage appeared in the hall. Tall, slim, and graceful, with a wealth of rippling hair and a sweet pale face, it was no wonder that to the boys mother was the centre of their world.
‘Quickly, boys, run upstairs, get off those dirty boots, and get ready for tea. Father has been called out, and may not be home till quite late, so I will have it with you in the schoolroom, and afterwards we will try to get the hall decorated before he comes back. You know how he loves to see the greenery.’
After tea, Ellen the housemaid was pressed into the service, so the decorations went on merrily; and as Vivian stood on a ladder fastening up the wreaths of bright holly which his mother’s quick fingers wove so rapidly, while little Dorothy ran about, proud in the belief that she was helping every one, he thought quite pityingly of the Strangeways, who had no mother or little sister, although they might possess pistols and skate in the moonlight while he had to come home.