ome. . . ." Her eyes roamed to the window,
and lit with sudden inspiration. She lifted her hand and pointed to a
distant steeple rising above the trees. "They have all gone off to
church--father and mother, and Amy and Fred--all the family together!
That's why the house is empty. And dinner is waiting for their return!"

She turned again to the table, her housekeeper's eye taking in at a
flash the paucity of its furnishings. "Peg! can this be _all_? _All_
that they have to eat . . . ? Let us look in the kitchen. . . . I must
make quite sure. . . ."

There was no feeling of embarrassment, no consciousness of impertinent
curiosity, in the girls' minds as they investigated the contents of
kitchen and larder. At that moment the house seemed their own, its
people their people; they were just two more members of a big family,
whose duty it was to look after the interests of their brothers and
sisters while they were away; and when evidences of poverty and
emptiness met them on every side, the two pairs of eyes met with a
mutual impulse, so strong that it needed not to be put into words.

In another moment they had left the house behind and were running
swiftly across the meadow towards the car. The chauffeur was busily
engaged on the tyre, Jack and Tom helping, or hindering as the case
might be. The hamper lay on the ground where it had been placed for
greater security during the repairs. The girls nipped it up by its
handles, and ran off again, regardless of protests and inquiries.

It was very heavy, delightfully heavy: the bearers rejoiced in its
weight, wished it had been three times as heavy; the aching of their
arms was a positive joy to them as they bore their burden into the
little dining-room, and laid it down upon the floor.

[Sidenote: What shall we do with it?]

"Now! What shall we do now? Shall we lay out the things and make a
display on the table, or shall we put the pie in the oven beside that
tiny ghost of a joint, and the pudding in a pan beside the potatoes?
Which do you think would be best?"

But Margaret shook her head.

"Neither! Oh! don't you see, both ways would look too human, too
material. They would show too plainly that strangers had been in, and
had interfered. I want it to look like a Christmas miracle . . . as if it
had come straight. . . . We'll lay the basket just as it is, on the Christ
Child's chair. . . ."

Peg nodded. She was an understanding Peg, and she rose at once to the
poet