St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Yes; why not? It is St. Martin's Eve, you know."

"Indeed I don't know," returned Mr. St. John, very much amused. "I'm not sure that I knew we had a St. Martin at all in the calendar."

"That comes of your having lived so little out of England. The English pay no attention to the saints' days. I have been abroad a good deal with my children, and know them all. St. Martin's is a great day in some parts of France. Please let it be so worded, Mr. St. John."

He took a pen and wrote it as she desired, laughing much. "I should like to see Dr. Graves's eyes when he reads this," quoth he, as he put it into the envelope.

"A rubbishing old Low Churchman!" slightingly spoke Mrs. Darling. "He's nobody."

So the notice was sent off; and in due time returned to the house in the newspapers. Mrs. Darling carried one upstairs proudly to her daughter. "See, Charlotte! How well it looks!"

Mrs. St. John took the paper in her delicate hand and read it in silence; read it twice. "How came George to put it in like that--'St. Martin's Eve?'"

"Because I requested it. You are quite well now, darling, as may be said: but I would not have the announcement made to the world in the same words as the last."

"It never could have been so made, mamma."

"Yes it could. Were not the two children born on the same day of the year?"