“Oh, yes, of course. He wouldn’t need anyone to give him supper or a woollen comforter, I suppose. But he could have seen the acting, and he would have helped us.”
“Really, Frances, you are ridiculous. You have such a fancy for Jim—as though we could have had a fellow like that tagging on to us all the evening.”
“I could have put up with him very well,” returned Frances calmly; “and he would have been very useful. Don’t you be ridiculous, Austin.”
Austin muttered something about not wanting “loafing cads” in his vicinity; and was called so severely to task for his unmannerly epithet that he retired to grumble mildly in Max’s ear. But Max, too, liked Jim, and regretted the lad’s absence and the cause of it. He was sure that Frances was thinking pitifully of Jim’s lonely Christmas, and his sympathy was with Frances, not with her brother. Austin saw that his grumble must seek another sympathizer, and while looking for one, he noticed an old man’s empty plate, and flew to fulfil the duty of an Altruist host.
Supper was followed by a distribution of gifts. The presents numbered two for each person, and the ambition of the society had decreed that they should be strictly useful and of a kind to give some real comfort to the recipients. Thus, flannel shirts, knitted vests and socks, and cardigan jackets were handed to the men; while the women received warm skirts, bodices, and petticoats, “overall” aprons, and woollen shawls. Crimson was the hue of most of the clothing, and Max’s prophecy concerning the Altruist village seemed on the way to fulfilment. Thanks came heartily and in full measure from the delighted guests; and when their best spokesman had been put forward to offer the gratitude of the poor of Woodend to “the young ladies and gentlemen what had shown them a kindness they’d never forget”, good-byes became general, the village-folk trooped out, and the happy evening was really over.
Mrs. Morland went home alone in her carriage, promising to send it back for Frances and Austin, who were to take Max with them and set him down at his father’s gate. A wonderful amount of consideration from Woodend invalids had left Dr. Brenton free for a whole evening, and among the Altruist audience not one had been happier than he. Now he went off with his borrowed bath-chair and its weakly occupant, meaning not only to see poor Mrs. Baker safely indoors, but to satisfy himself that her husband, who had stayed sulking at home, was propitiated by the present of warm shirts and socks which Frances had chosen as the likeliest pacifiers.
The boys were still in their fancy dress, and obliged to wait in the school-room for Mrs. Morland’s carriage; but Frances, in her cosy frock and jacket, could defy the snow without, and she accompanied some of her friends to the gate and saw them off. As the last carriage full of boys and girls rolled smoothly away, she still stood thoughtfully by the roadside. Frances was thoroughly content; her heart seemed full of peace and good-will to all the world, and lifting her face to the moonlit sky, she searched half-consciously for those old friends Orion and the Plough, while her happy young face smiled in memory of all the joys that evening had brought for her.
“She does look kind!” mused a lad hidden in the shadow of some bushes opposite. “Kind and gentle and good! It was worth while to tramp from Rowdon to see Miss Frances’s face to-night. She has been making folks happy, as her way is, God bless her! I was afraid before I came,—but now I’m glad. Miss Frances will be kind, I know she will. The boy’s different, and I doubt he’ll be against me; but what shall I care, if Missy is kind?”
Jim East lifted his head, and stood erect and brave.