"Oh, you're Mrs. Ross's nephew then," said Caroline, breaking eggs into her cake-bowl, and whisking them deftly round. "And you're Sampson's errand boy just now? My goodness," as the boy spread his blue hands over the fire, "where are your mittens, child? You're never out without mittens a day like this!"
"I lent them to William John—he hadn't any," faltered Bertie. He did not know but that the lady might consider it a grave crime to be mittenless.
"No mittens!" exclaimed Amy in dismay. "Why, I have three pairs. And who is William John?"
"He is my cousin," said Bertie. "And he's awful sickly. He wanted to go out to play, and he hadn't any mittens, so I lent him mine. I didn't miss them—much."
"What kind of a Christmas did you have?"
"We didn't have any."
"No Christmas!" said Amy, quite overcome. "Oh, well, I suppose you are going to have a good time on New Year's instead."
Bertie shook his head.
"No'm, I guess not. We never have it different from other times."
Amy was silent from sheer amazement. Edith understood better, and she changed the subject.