[CHAPTER XII.]
THE END OF THE YEAR AND OF THE POST-OFFICE.
Christmas had come and gone, and it was the last day of the year. The Christmas tree still stood in the bay-window, and Tommy Traddles had not ceased to find delight in setting in motion with his paw the decorative balls within his reach on the lower limbs, and eying wistfully those that hung higher. The fire burned brightly on the hearth, and the snow fell swiftly and silently outside, drifting like a white veil across the window, and heaping itself on the sills.
Margery sat watching it listlessly, swinging the curtain cord, and wondering what made the others so long. The post-office had languished of late, having been crowded out of mind by the holiday preparations and the colder weather. No one would confess to being tired of it, but sometimes there were two or three days between the delivery of mails, which were steadily growing lighter; indeed, no one but Lady Alma Cara and Mr. Oliver Twist were still faithful correspondents.
At last Trix and Amy came running in the gate, and Margery sprang to meet them. They stamped the snow off in the vestibule, and took off their things in the hall, where Trix had a struggle with her rubber boots, which, as she needlessly observed, were growing too small for her.
"Now what shall we do?" demanded Trix, as they came into the sitting-room, bringing with them such an atmosphere of out-of-doors that Tommy Traddles retired to the hearth-rug.
"Why, I'm looking for Jack," answered Margery. "He has some secret which he wouldn't tell me, but he said he'd come over this afternoon surely and tell me. He said it was half good and half bad, and I can't think what it can be."
"I don't believe it's much," said Trix sceptically. "Jack has such lots of notions."
But Margery shook her head.
"This is something," she began, when Amy interrupted her.