The old janitor came to say good-by.
"An' God be with you, miss, this Christmas Eve"—taking the coin irresolutely, but pocketing it for fear of hurting her.
His fingers, numbed and aged, fumbling in the pocket encountered another object.
"Musha, thin, I'm afther forgettin' phwat I'm here f'r to tell ye, miss," he rambled on. "Misther Landon wishes ye f'r to know that he do be lavin' the house"—the old man moistened his lips in an effort to remember with all the elegance required of him—"an' Misther Landon is wishful f'r to say a genteel good luck to ye, miss."
The girl shook her head.
"Tell Mr. Landon good-by for me, Patrick. Say—from me—God bless him.... Will you remember?... And a—a happy Christmas."
"I will, Miss."
She touched her eyes with her handkerchief hastily, and held out her hand to the old man.
"I think that is all," she whispered.