Whenever the weather was at all suitable the three younger children were sent out of doors to play, Ethel joining them when her task was done, and usually they were all invited into Mrs. Keith’s yard or house.
But stormy days had to be spent shut up in their own small room, and poor little Ethel was almost at her wit’s end to keep Harry and Nannette from making such a disturbance as would bring reproof and sometimes sore punishment upon them.
They had little or no love for Mrs. Coote, who never lavished any demonstrations of affection upon them, and from her husband they shrank as from a dangerous foe. Fortunately they rarely saw him except when summoned to a recitation of the verses of Scripture which they were compelled to learn for the express purpose of enabling him to show off to chance visitors as one who was successfully training up in the way they should go the young orphans committed to his fatherly care.
As their Uncle Albert had promised, they were remembered at Christmas time by the relatives in Philadelphia, a box being sent direct to Ethel, in Mr. Coote’s care. Fortunately it reached the house one day in his absence, and Mrs. Coote put it privately away, never breathing a word to him of its arrival.
On Christmas morning, soon after breakfast, she opened it herself in presence of the children, first telling them whence it had come and cautioning them to be perfectly quiet, or they might lose some of the contents.
There were fruits, cakes, candies, and toys; all in such plentiful supply that the children were almost wild with delight.
All four urged Mrs. Coote to share with them. She looked pleased that they should wish it, accepted a very little, then saying, “If you like you can, after a bit, carry some over to your friends at Mr. Keith’s; and, Ethel, to-morrow you may write a little letter of thanks to your uncles and the rest in Philadelphia, and I will mail it for you,” she left them to the enjoyment of their gifts.
If anything could have added to their felicity it was the note from Mrs. Keith, presently brought in by her servant girl, inviting all four to take their Christmas dinner with little Mary, and to come as early as possible with Mrs. Coote’s consent.
“Oh, Mrs. Coote, can’t we go this minute?” asked Blanche and Harry in a breath, while Nannette piped, “Me wants to go, dus now; dis minute,” and Ethel’s soft brown eyes made the same request.
“Yes, yes; I’ll be only too glad to be rid of your noise and chatter for the rest of the day,” was the rather ungracious reply. “But you’ve all got to be dressed in your best first,” she added, going to the closet and taking down the dresses the little girls were wont to call their “Sunday frocks,” in which she presently proceeded to array them.