Voices of youngsters outside the front door, and the small brother rattling at the letter-box in his impatience. One of the two maids, answering, found herself as nearly as possible bowled over in the narrow hall, saving herself by clutching at a peg of the hat-stand and allowing the inrush to sweep by and through to the drawing-room. All the children loaded with parcels, which they dropped on the way, and all shouting: “Many happy returns, many happy returns!” and demanding the immediate production of an aunt, and several cousins, paying no regard whatever to the reminders from elders that they had formally promised to behave like little ladies and gentlemen.
The hostess came down in a stately way, pretending to be unaware of the fact that she was wearing a new dress. The visitors had experienced some amazing adventures on the journey, and they told them in chorus, with many interruptions, given in solo form and made up of urgent amendments concerning unimportant details. Such funny people they had met in the train, to be sure; somehow at this time of the year one always encountered the most extraordinary folk. And just as they started, who should come rushing along the platform, just too late to catch the train, but Mr.—
“Oh, here you are!” turning to the eldest girl, who had entered the room, to be instantly surrounded and tugged in every direction by the youngsters. “We were just telling your mother that your friend— Oh, look at her blushing!”
“We’ll put dinner back twenty minutes,” said the mother, interposing on her daughter’s behalf. “That will give him time if he catches the next.”
“Perhaps he never meant to come by that train,” said Uncle Henry. “Very likely he’s gone off somewhere else. One can never depend on these bachelors.”
“Tease away,” said the girl courageously. “To tell you the truth, I rather like it.”
“In that case,” remarked the uncle, “I decline to proceed. If I can’t give annoyance, I shall simply shut up. Supposing I have a kiss instead.”
Tragic moments for the children who were being released from the control of neck-wraps and safety-pins and rubber shoes, for, apart from the tantalising scent of cooking, they had to endure the trial of saying nothing about the parcels brought. They clustered around the eldest girl, knowing this to be the surest quarter for entertainment, and she would have found a dozen arms few enough for the embraces they required; some of their questions she answered as though her mind were absent, and she glanced now and again, when everybody was talking, at the clock on the mantelpiece. A sharp knock at the front door made smiles come again to her features; the mother gave a warning word to the kitchen and met the young man in the hall, where the boys were helping him in the task of disengaging himself from his overcoat by pulling at it in all directions. He could not express his regrets at the missing of the train, but every one knew what motor-omnibuses were, and as he shook hands formally with the eldest girl (who appeared rather surprised, remarking to him, “Oh, is that you?”) an aunt began a moving anecdote concerning one of these conveyances which she had boarded on a recent afternoon opposite St. Martin’s Church. She asked the conductor as distinctly as she could speak whether it went to the Adelaide, and she felt certain that he replied, “Yes, lady,” but, happening to glance out later, found herself whirling along Marylebone Road, whereupon she, with great presence of mind, took her umbrella, prodded the conductor in the small of his back—
“If you please, ’m, dinner is served!”
There were chairs at the long table that had the shy appearance of having been borrowed from the bedroom, but only one of the children made a remark concerning this, and she found herself told that another word from her would result in a lonely return to home forthwith. They all declared they had plenty of room, and Uncle Henry accepted with modesty a position near to the birds with the comment that he could always manage to eat a couple; perhaps the others would not mind looking on whilst he enjoyed the pleasures of the table; the children, now accustomed to Uncle Henry’s humour, declined to be appalled by this threat, and, indeed, challenged him, offering the prize of one penny if he should consume the contents of the dishes, bones and all. They stopped their ears whilst he sharpened the big knife, and when he said, “Now, has any one got any preference?” the grown-ups gave a fine lesson in behaviour by declaring that they would be content with whatever portions were sent down to them. The maid, waiting at table, exhibited evidence of mental aberration over the task of handing plates in the right order of precedence, but wireless telegraphy from her mistress, and from the eldest daughter, gave instructions and averted disaster.