CHAPTER II.
AN INVITATION.
CHRISTMAS Day dawned clear and bright. All prospects of a thaw seemed to be gone, for the frost had been very keen during the night, and every little twig on the trees glittered in the sunshine as if it were set with diamonds.
‘What a day for skating!’ said Ronald at breakfast-time, after good-mornings and good wishes had been passed round. ‘It almost makes one wish that Christmas had not fallen on a Sunday this year.’
‘Oh Ronnie!’ said little Dorothy aghast. ‘You touldn’t go skating to-day. Tink of the pudding, and we’s going to have ’sert. I saw muvver putting it out—oranges, an’ nuts, an’ ’nannas.’
‘Yes; but, Pussy, Christmas dinner is like the frost, it doesn’t last for ever,’ said Ronald, lifting his little sister into her place between his mother’s chair and his own, while everyone laughed at her remark.
‘Never mind,’ said Mrs Armitage, ‘even if it had been a week-day—what with church, and dinner, and presents—there would not have been much time for skating; besides,’ glancing out of the window as she spoke, ‘I do not think that it will last like this all day. I fancy we will have a fresh fall of snow ere night. Here comes father, so you may begin, boys.’
Dr Armitage was a pleasant-looking man, of about middle age, with a kind, open face, and keen gray eyes. The likeness between him and his eldest son would have told a stranger at once what relationship there was between them.
‘Well, boys,’ he said cheerfully, turning over a pile of letters as he spoke, ‘has mother told you the news yet?’
‘What news?’ they asked eagerly, while their mother shook her head in mock displeasure.