Well, this evening of the big Christmas party was, as I said, one of the happiest he had ever known. All his friends were there—all looking as happy as happy could be.
"When I'm a man," thought Ted to himself, "I'd like to give parties like this every Christmas," and as he looked round the room his eyes gleamed with pleasure. Gertrude was standing beside him—they were going to be partners in a country-dance, which was a favourite of Ted's. Just then his mother came up to where they were standing.
"Ted, my boy," she said, "I am going home now. It is very late for you already—half-past twelve. The others, however, are staying later, but I think it is quite time for you and me to be going, don't you?"
Ted's face clouded—a most unusual thing to happen.
"Gertrude isn't going yet," he said, "and Rex and his brothers; they're staying later. O mother, must I come now?"
His mother hesitated. She was always reluctant to disappoint the children if it could be helped, yet, on the other hand, she was even more anxious not to spoil them. But the sight of Ted's eager face carried the day.
"Ah well," she said, smiling, "I suppose I must be indulgent for once and go home without you. So good-night, Ted—you will come with the others—I hope it won't be very late."
As she turned away, it struck her that Ted's face did not look altogether delighted.
"Poor Ted," she said to herself, "he doesn't like to see me go away alone." But hoping he would enjoy himself, and that he would not be too tired "to-morrow morning," she went home without any misgiving, and she was not sorry to go. She found the Christmas holidays and all they entailed more fatiguing than did the children, for whom all these pleasant things "grew" without preparation.
It was a rather dark night—so thought Ted's mother to herself as she glanced out of her window for a moment before drawing the curtains close and going to bed—all the house was shut up, and all those who had stayed at home fast asleep by this time, and it had been arranged that the others should let themselves in with a latch-key. Ted's mother felt, therefore, rather surprised and a little startled when she heard a bell ring; at first she could hardly believe that she was not mistaken, and to be quite sure she opened the window and called out "Is there any one there?" There was half a moment's silence, then some one came out a little from under the porch, where he had been standing since ringing the bell, and a well-known voice replied—how clearly and brightly its young tones rose up through the frosty air—