Young Tom Morgan—for he was not above four-and-twenty, although his beard was so big and strong—was the younger of two sons who both lived with their parents, the house being very large. The elder son, Grant Morgan, was married, and occupied the northern wing with his wife and three children. The wee lass who had proposed that Jack or Johnnie should have "dood tlothes" was the youngest; then there was a boy of eight and one of eleven.
When Tom returned to the servants' hall, he succeeded in interesting every one there, even the somewhat supercilious butler, in Johnnie Greybreeks; and between the lot of them they succeeded in working quite a transformation in the boy. In fact, they took great fun in doing it.
"Ulric's clothes will just fit him, cook," said Tom.
"Yes, sir; but—"
"Oh, bother the 'but'! this is Christmas eve, cook. There, now; you take him into your own room and see to his hair and his poor little feet. I'll be back in a minute."
Half an hour after this nobody would have taken Johnnie for the same boy, but for his pale face and sad, dark, wondering eyes.
"I'm not going to go away with all these grand things on, am I, sir?" he asked.
"Oh yes, you are."
"I can go to church now!" cried Jack jubilantly. "I tried one time before; but they thought I'd come after the coppers, and chased me away. O sir, mother and Sissie will be pleased; you've made such a happy boy of me!"
Johnnie began bundling up his old clothes in his red handkerchief as he spoke; and when he departed, about an hour after this, he took that bundle with him, and another too, containing more provisions and nice things than would do for several days' dinner.