"On Christmas-day, of all the days of the year!" she said, as if appealing to Maurice. "Surely, surely, I must give up Christmas-day to them! Oh, do you know, Mr. Mangan, there never was a happier present than you thought of for the little blind boy who got his leg broken—you remember? He learned almost directly how to do the puzzle; and he gets the ring off so quickly that no one can see how it is done; and he laughs with delight when he finds that any neighbor coming in can only growl and grumble—and fail. I'm going there just now; won't you come? And mind you be very angry when you can't get the ring off; you may use any language you like about your clumsiness—poor little chap, he has heard plenty of that in his time."
Maurice needed no second invitation; this was what he had come for; he had found the sunlight to lighten up the Christmas-day withal; his face, that was almost beautiful in its fine intellectuality, showed that whenever she spoke to him. Lionel, of course, went with them.
And again it was Maurice Mangan whom Miss Francie addressed, as they walked along to the village.
"Do you know, in all this blessed place, I can't find a copy of Mrs. Hemans's poems; and I wanted you to read 'The Arab to his Horse'—is that the title?—at my school-treat to-morrow. They would all understand that. Well, we must get something else; for we're to make a show of being educational and instructive
before the romping begins. I think the 'Highland Schottische' is the best of any for children who haven't learned dancing; they can all jump about somehow—and the music is inspiriting. The vicar's daughters are coming to hammer at the piano. Oh, Mr. Mangan," she continued, still appealing to him, "do you think you could tell them a thrilling folk-story?—wouldn't that be better?"
"Don't you want me to do something, Francie?" said Lionel, perhaps a little hurt.
"Do you mean—"
"The only thing I'm fit for—I'll sing them a song, if you like. 'My Pretty Jane'—no, that would hardly do—'The Death of Nelson' or 'Rule Britannia'—"
"Wouldn't there be rather a risk, Lionel? If you were to miss your train—and disappoint a great audience in London?" she said, gently.
"Oh, I'll take my chance of that? I'm used to it," he said, "I'll have Dick and the pony waiting outside. Oh, yes, I'll sing something for them."