o the dogs. There
ain't no wye back. I was wonderin', since we've been acquainted, kiddy,
if your pa didn't go the sime road? It 'appens in all clarses."

"Oh no, my father was lost at sea, not on the road; and there aren't any
dogs there, at least I don't think so," said Rosemary.

"If it's only the sea 'as swallered 'im, 'e may be cast up again, any
day, alive an' bloomin'," replied Jane cheerfully. "My ma 'ad a grite
friend, sold winkles; 'er 'usbin was lost at sea for years and years,
till just wen she was comfortably settled with 'er second, along 'e
comes, as large as loife. Besides, I've read of such things in the
Princess Novelettes; only there it's most generally lovers, not 'usbins,
nor yet fathers. Would you know yours again, if you seen 'im?"

Rosemary shook her head doubtfully, and her falling hair of pale,
shimmering gold waved like a wheat-field shaken by a breeze. "Angel lost
him when I was only two," the child explained. "She's never talked much
to me about him; but we used to live in a big house in London--because
my father was English, you know, though Angel's American--and I had a
nurse who held me in her lap and told me things. I heard her say to one
of the servants once that my father had been lost on a yacht, and that
he was oh, ever such a handsome man. But--but she said--" Rosemary
faltered, her grey-blue eyes suddenly large and troubled.

"What was it she said?" prompted Jane, with so much sympathetic interest
that the little girl could not refuse to answer. Nevertheless, she felt
that it would not be right to finish her sentence.

"If you please, I'd rather not tell you what Nurse said," she pleaded.
"But anyway, I'd give everything I've got if my father would get found
again. You see, it isn't only not having proper Christmases any more,
that makes me feel sad, it's because Angel has to work so hard for me;
and if I had a father, I s'pose he'd do that."

"If 'e didn't he'd deserve to get What For," said Jane, decidedly. "If
you was a child in a story book, your pa'd come back and be lookin' for
you everywhere, on Christmas Eve; this Christmas Eve as ever was."

"Oh, would he?" cried Rosemary, a bright colour flaming on her little
soft cheeks.

"Yes; and what's more," went on her hostess, warming to the subject,
"you'd know 'im, the hinstant you clapped heyes on his fice, by
'eaven-sent hinstinct."

"What's 'eaven-sent hinstinct?" demanded Rosemary.

"The feelin' you 'ave in your 'e