"All right, Dad; I'll run. It's much too cold to walk."
Rogers, the gamekeeper, glanced with pride after the little retreating figure, and then, as his old mother was standing in the draughty porch awaiting him, he kissed her wrinkled face, and they entered the cottage together.
Nancy was soon at the Grange, her cheeks aglow under the scarlet hood of her cloak. New people were at the big house, and there seemed a deal of bustle going on. She waited in the vestibule and stared at the brightness, at the beautiful pictures and decorations where, ever since she had known the Grange, all had been damp and decay. She had never seen anything like this before, and she was enjoying the novelty, mixed with awe at all the grandeur, when a little girl richly dressed, about three years old, ran up to her. Nancy dropped a little bob of a curtsey, as her grandmother had taught her to do to the gentry.
Little Iris was not at all shy, and was full of one thought only—the thought of Christmas—so that she burst out with: "D'you know to-morrow's Christmas Day?" and, without waiting for a reply, she babbled on: "I'm going to have such boo'ful things—a dolly that sends kisses, a pamberlator for her to ride in, a gold watch with real ticks, and a titten with real scratches. Guess who'll bring them."
"Her ladyship?" ventured Nancy, dazzled at such a haul of magnificence.
"No, not Mummy," exclaimed Iris, capering with delight and revealing more of her frills and laces.
"I can't guess, Miss," said Nancy, smiling through her diffidence—which was just what Iris wanted her to say.
"It's Santa Claus! Santa Claus always brings me just what I want. Isn't it clever?"
"Who's Santa Claus? Is it your aunt, Miss?"
"I'm 'peaking to you about Santa Claus—a gen'lman. I've not seen him—never been able to catch him yet."