things, with nothing the least wonderful
or remarkable about them. Gertrude was a very dear little girl; she
almost seemed to Ted like another kind of sister. He had Mabel, and
Christine her sister, as big ones, and Cissy as his own particular
little one, and Gertrude seemed to come in as a sort of companion
sister, between the big ones and the little one. Ted was very rich in
friends, you see, friends of all kinds. He used often to count them up
and say so to himself.

Well, this evening of the big Christmas party was, as I said, one of the
happiest he had ever known. All his friends were there--all looking as
happy as happy could be.

"When I'm a man," thought Ted to himself, "I'd like to give parties like
this every Christmas," and as he looked round the room his eyes gleamed
with pleasure. Gertrude was standing beside him--they were going to be
partners in a country-dance, which was a favourite of Ted's. Just then
his mother came up to where they were standing.

"Ted, my boy," she said, "I am going home now. It is very late for you
already--half-past twelve. The others, however, are staying later, but
I think it is quite time for you and me to be going, don't you?"

Ted's face clouded--a most unusual thing to happen.

"Gertrude isn't going yet," he said, "and Rex and his brothers; they're
staying later. O mother, _must_ I come now?"

His mother hesitated. She was always reluctant to disappoint the
children if it could be helped, yet, on the other hand, she was even
more anxious not to _spoil_ them. But the sight of Ted's eager face
carried the day.

"Ah well," she said, smiling, "I suppose I must be indulgent for once
and go home without you. So good-night, Ted--you will come with the
others--I hope it won't be _very_ late."

As she turned away, it struck her that Ted's face did not look
_altogether_ delighted.

"Poor Ted," she said to herself, "he doesn't like to see me go away
alone." But hoping he would enjoy himself, and that he would not be
_too_ tired "to-morrow morning," she went home without any misgiving,
and she was not sorry to go. She found the Christmas holidays and all
they entailed more fatiguing than did the children, for whom all these
pleasant things "grew" without preparation.

It was a rather dark night--so thought Ted's mother to herself as she
glanced out of her window for a moment before drawing the curtains close
and going to bed--all the house was shut up, and all those who had