"I don't think he'll come now, dearie. We must just get on without it."
The little girl sprang up, her pale cheek suddenly flushed.
"Oh, listen!" she cried; "something's coming!"
They listened in breathless silence, while the sound of wheels came down the street towards the empty door. Then—an old hand-cart appeared in the doorway and behind it William in his strange attire, and Joan in her fairy-like white—white cloak, white dress, white socks and shoes—her bright curls clustered with gleaming fog jewels.
The little girl clasped her hands. Her face broke into a rapt smile. Her blue eyes were like stars.
"Oh, oh!" she cried. "It's Father Christmas and a fairy!"
Without a word William pushed the cart through the doorway into the room and began to remove its contents and place them on the table. First the jellies and trifles and blanc-manges, then the meat pies, pastries, sausage rolls, sandwiches, biscuits, and cakes—sugar-coated, cream-interlayered, full of plums and nuts and fruit. William's mother had had wide experience and knew well what food most appealed to small boys and girls. Moreover she had provided plentifully for her twenty guests.
The little girl was past speech. The woman looked at them in dumb wonder. Then:
"Why, you're the boy she was talkin' to," she said at last. "It's real kind of you. She was gettin' that upset. It 'ud have broke her heart if nothin' had come an' I couldn't do nothin'. It's real kind of yer, sir!" Her eyes were misty.