"Oh, miss! Oh, miss Shelerpat!—Same to you and many on 'em—I'm sure the picture's lovely—it just might be the dog 'imself—and the scarf too—I shall wear it on my Sunday out, and I'm sure it's very kind of you young ladies—thank you, miss—and mistress told me to bring these round to your rooms—" So Sarah, in a breathless rush of excitement. "Two for you, miss, and two for you!"
"Well!" ejaculated Nell. "To think that Aunt Kezia—" She stopped abruptly, with a little catch in her breath. She had caught sight of the writing on the parcels; one was her mother's and the other her father's. There was a long letter from each as well as the Christmas present. Nell smiled as she read her father's plaint: "We wanted to leave directions with your aunt to put these little presents into the various stockings she would be sure to find waiting if she were to look. But you see, mavourneen, she wouldn't look! And I'm rather frightened of her, so I dared not insist. I tried to coax your mother into bearding her about presenting these to you at any rate on Christmas morning, but she (is she a dutiful wife?) pleaded her ill health, and declared she could not stand the stony disapproval she would see in Aunt Kezia's eye. So I threw back my shoulders and twirled my moustache, and faced the enemy myself. I had to listen to a lecture on Irish thriftlessness, but perhaps I deserved that. Poor Aunt Kezia, she's very dry and hard, and very opposite to all of you. But she is a good woman, and wants to make you all comfortable. But she doesn't approve of Christmas presents. A twinkle comes into your mother's eye (but she sternly represses the dimple you used to dig your baby fingers into) when I conjecture over her aspect on Christmas day this year! For we're a very Christmasy lot, aren't we, asthore? Be just as Christmasy as ever you can this year, my dear, and when you think of dear old Kilbrannan and us—as I know you will be doing—(a conceited old father, amn't I?)—well, just remember too that the months soon skip by, and we'll be back, please God, in a few months, and that Kilbrannan is still ours, and we have only kindly and hospitably lent it to the Harrisons for a while! But there, am I preaching? And to my brave little Nell! Don't I know she'll be making herself and others see all the bright bits?"
At breakfast Miss Kezia did not allude to her Christmas stocking. She was very amiable, and had had fish cakes added to the porridge. But in the middle of the meal Kate Kearney came into the room, looking seraphic, and carrying jauntily in her mouth a limp white muslin stocking. It was torn, and nothing remained in it now but a little wooden whistle, three or four pink and white sweets, and the china head of a doll. She carried it to Nell, and dropped it at her feet.
Miss Kezia flushed a little, and drew down her upper lip.
"I did not wish to allude to what I considered a foolish and disrespectful joke, as it is Christmas morning, but you see now what a disgraceful mess that dog must have made. I expect the stairs are strewn with sweets and toys—"
"She'd eat the sweets," interposed Sheila Pat.
"Please go and pick up the debris!"
Joyfully they all rushed from the room, and crawled about the stairs, picking up splinters of wood, wool-stuffing, china legs and arms, but no sweets. Kate Kearney had eaten them. She brought the stocking, with its few little sweets rammed into the toe, and begged them to get them out for her.
"Sweets," said Nell, "are bad for you, but 'tis Christmas morning!"
After breakfast the chief event for which everyone was waiting was the advent of the postman. Miss Kezia exclaimed surprisedly:—