Alan.

"Oh no," protested Blanche; "it's too late for you to go home to dinner
now. You must come to us. Marjory's coming."

"I meant to skate all day, and mother gave me some sandwiches."

"Sandwiches are but poor comfort on a cold day, Master Morison," said
Mrs. Shaw. "I should be proud if the young ladies and you would have
your dinner here--that is," she added, "if you don't mind having it in
the kitchen. The parlour fire isn't lighted yet. I can send a message
down to Braeside if you will stay." And she looked at the girls.

"It is very kind of you," said Blanche. "We should like to stay, if it
isn't too much bother for you.--Shouldn't we, Marj?"

"Yes," replied Marjory, much surprised by this unwonted friendliness on
Mrs. Shaw's part. "And don't you think Alan's clothes ought to be
dried?"

"Rot!" said Alan again.

But Mrs. Shaw was a managing person. She felt Alan's legs.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed, "he's wet through. Come with me at once,"
and she dragged the unwilling boy into another room. In a short time
they returned, Alan looking a comical figure, dressed in a pair of
knickerbockers many sizes too large for him, and a man's flannel shirt
and coat. Marjory at once decided that these garments must have belonged
to the mysterious husband in foreign parts.

Alan looked red and uncomfortable after Mrs. Shaw's ministrations, but
Marjory said, "That's better. Now come and sit by the fire," pretending
not to notice anything peculiar in his appearance. To tell the truth, he
was nothing loath to sit by the cheerful blaze, for he had begun to feel
cold and miserable as soon as Curly was all right, but he would have
done anything rather than say so.

Mrs. Shaw's kitchen was cleaner than some people's dining-rooms. There
was not a speck of dust anywhere, and not a thing out of its place. Her
guests were amused to see their dinner come straight from the various
pots and pans on the fire; but never was a meal eaten with a better
appetite, and after the first shyness wore off, the party was a very
merry one.

Marjory noticed that Mrs. Shaw looked often at Blanche, and with an
expression of tenderness which her face never wore for other people.
Half sad, half tender, the look was, and Marjory wondered what it could
mean.

After dinner was over, Blanche asked if they might go to the parlour and
see the curiosities.

"I wonder if you'll get anything this Christmas," she remarked.

"Maybe," was the short r