‘A scheme worthy of the Foul Fiend himself!’ exclaimed the colonel as he sprang to his feet.
There was a painful pause. The colonel was thoroughly taken aback by what he had just heard. At length he said slowly: ‘Surely—surely there must be some way of escape.’
Mora shook her head. ‘I know of none,’ she answered simply.
A few moments later, there was a noise of approaching footsteps. The colonel drew a pace or two farther away.
CHRISTMAS TREES.
THEIR SHADY SIDE.
The few words I am about to write upon the subject of Christmas Trees for children may perhaps be best illustrated by what originally gave rise to these remarks—namely, the first festivity of the kind attended by my own juveniles. It was given by a friend, whose rooms were narrow in proportion to the numbers of small people she expected, and seniors were therefore not included in the invitations. I was asked, however, to go on the morning of the party to inspect the tree when it was set up and loaded with its treasures. A goodly array they surely formed. Toys of every kind, most of them very costly; for my friend had been regardless of expense. He calculated that eighty pounds would scarcely cover the outlay upon the articles provided. When I considered how easy to please in their playthings children often are; how tenderly the battered doll or dilapidated horse is sometimes cherished; how the sixpenny toy with the charm of novelty upon it, will put out of favour its guinea predecessor—for children, unlike adults, do not estimate things because of their money value—I could not help thinking this was a sad waste of money. The delicate machinery of those expensive mechanical toys would also run great risk of being put out of order or broken among the crowd of eager children, with no parents present to guard them from injury. Altogether, the gorgeous Christmas tree seemed destined to be ‘a thing of beauty and of joy’ for a very short time indeed.
The eventful evening arrived, and great was the excitement. My small daughter was a pretty child, and very comely she looked in her dainty lace-trimmed frock and pink ribbons, when, with her young brother, she came fluttering into my boudoir; nurse, proud and pleased, escorting the pair and carrying their wraps. With true feminine instinct, the little damsel betook herself to the tall pier-glass, surveying her finery therein with much satisfaction. ‘I daresay,’ she said, turning round after a prolonged gaze, ‘that I shall be the nicest-dressed little girl at the party!’
‘No, indeed—that you won’t,’ promptly interposed nurse. ‘Don’t you go to think such a thing, dear. You’ll see, when you get into the room, there’ll be a-many little ladies just as nice as yourself, perhaps even nicer.’ Which speech was a sacrifice of candour on the part of nurse, who was given to regard her young charge as being as good as the best, though she felt called on by duty to nip vanity in the bud.
The morning after a night’s dissipation is generally a trying one, when excitement has passed off and reaction set in. Late hours and hot rooms, fruits and pastries and unwholesome liquids at times when healthy slumbers would otherwise have been the order of the night, are apt to have a damaging effect upon the temper. The present occasion was no exception to the rule. My children were not looking their happiest when they appeared carrying a load of things which they laid roughly down and proceeded to turn over with a listless air.