reakfast. Each girl had slipped a hand under his arm. 'It's like
Moses or was it Aaron?' Noel thought absurdly Memory had complete hold
of her. All the old days! Nursery hours on Sundays after tea, stories
out of the huge Bible bound in mother-o'pearl, with photogravures of the
Holy Land--palms, and hills, and goats, and little Eastern figures, and
funny boats on the Sea of Galilee, and camels--always camels. The book
would be on his knee, and they one on each arm of his chair, waiting
eagerly for the pages to be turned so that a new picture came. And there
would be the feel of his cheek, prickly against theirs; and the old
names with the old glamour--to Gratian, Joshua, Daniel, Mordecai, Peter;
to Noel Absalom because of his hair, and Haman because she liked the
sound, and Ruth because she was pretty and John because he leaned on
Jesus' breast. Neither of them cared for Job or David, and Elijah and
Elisha they detested because they hated the name Eliza. And later days
by firelight in the drawing-room, roasting chestnuts just before evening
church, and telling ghost stories, and trying to make Daddy eat his
share. And hours beside him at the piano, each eager for her special
hymns--for Gratian, "Onward, Christian Soldiers," "Lead, Kindly Light,"
and "O God Our Help"; for Noel, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," the one with
"The Hosts of Midian" in it, and "For Those in Peril on the Sea."
And carols! Ah! And Choristers! Noel had loved one deeply--the word
"chorister" was so enchanting; and because of his whiteness, and hair
which had no grease on it, but stood up all bright; she had never spoken
to him--a far worship, like that for a star. And always, always Daddy
had been gentle; sometimes angry, but always gentle; and they sometimes
not at all! And mixed up with it all, the dogs they had had, and the
cats they had had, and the cockatoo, and the governesses, and their red
cloaks, and the curates, and the pantomimes, and "Peter Pan," and "Alice
in Wonderland"--Daddy sitting between them, so that one could snuggle
up. And later, the school-days, the hockey, the prizes, the holidays,
the rush into his arms; and the great and wonderful yearly exodus to far
places, fishing and bathing; walks and drives; rides and climbs, always
with him. And concerts and Shakespeare plays in the Christmas and Easter
holidays; and the walk home through the streets--all lighted in those
days--one on each side of him. And this was the end! They waited on