e, which she laid upon the
table.

"Many 'appy returns, Master Jeremy." Giggle... giggle... "Lord save
us if I 'aven't gone and forgotten they spunes," and she vanished. The
present-giving had begun.

He had an instant's struggle as to whether it were better to wait
until all the presents had accumulated, or whether he would take them
separately as they arrived. The dirty envelope lured him. He advanced
towards it and seized it. He could not read very easily the sprawling
writing on the cover, but he guessed that it said "From Gladys to Master
Jeremy." Within was a marvellous card, tied together with glistening
cord and shining with all the colours of the rainbow. It was apparently
a survival from last Christmas, as there was a church in snow and a peal
of bells; he was, nevertheless, very happy to have it.

After his introduction events moved swiftly. First Helen and Mary
appeared, their faces shining and solemn and mysterious--Helen
self-conscious and Mary staring through her spectacles like a profound
owl.

Because Jeremy had known Mary ever since he could remember, he was
unaware that there was anything very peculiar about her. But in truth
she was a strange looking child. Very thin, she had a large head,
with big outstanding ears, spectacles, and yellow hair pulled back
and "stringy." Her large hands were always red, and her forehead was
freckled. She was as plain a child as you were ever likely to see, but
there was character in her mouth and eyes, and although she was only
seven years old, she could read quite difficult books (she was engaged
at this particular time upon "Ivanhoe"), and she was a genius at sums.

The passion of her life, as the family were all aware, was Jeremy,
but it was an unfortunate and uncomfortable passion. She bothered and
worried him, she was insanely jealous; she would sulk for days did he
ever seem to prefer Helen to herself. No one understood her; she was
considered a "difficult child," quite unlike any other member of the
family, except possibly Samuel, Mr. Cole's brother-in-law, who was an
unsuccessful painter and therefore "odd."

As Mary was at present only seven years of age it would be too much to
say that the family was afraid of her. Aunt Amy's attitude was: "Well,
after all, she's sure to be clever when she grows up, poor child;" and
although the parishioners of Mary's father always alluded to her as "the
ludicrous Cole child," they told awed little stories about the i