Part 24 (1/2)

”Miss Kitty, my dear, what do you think has happened? The waters are out, and the river is turned into a great big lake, and the houses are standing out of it like little dots. It all looks so funny; shall I lift you out to see?”

But Kitty had buried her head under the clothes, and was sobbing quietly to herself. No mention was made of the Christmas tree in her prayers that morning, and the prayers themselves were very perfunctory indeed--said more from the force of habit than because she had any faith in their efficacy. True, the rain had ceased now, but what was the good of that now the flood had come? And the worst of it was that she could not talk this matter out to daddy; he would think her dreadfully wicked. So it was a very white-faced Kitty that presented herself at the breakfast-table, and she received her father's a.s.surance that her tree should not be abandoned, but only delayed, with a watery, quivering smile.

”And I shall be so busy all the morning,” went on Mr. Curzon, cheerfully. ”You see, lots of the cottages are cut off from communication with the outside world, and the children will be hungry and wanting their breakfasts and dinners; so I must be off to see what I can do with carts or boats, according to the depth of the water.”

This was rather exciting; and Kitty spent her morning with her chair drawn close to the window, which commanded the best view of the village, and saw carts drawn by pairs of horses splas.h.i.+ng along to some of the cottages. And to one cottage, standing alone in a low-lying field, she saw a boat making its way; she was almost sure that the man who rowed it was her friend Mr. Paul. Later in the morning he paid her a visit, with a red colour in his face and a cheery ring in his voice.

”I could not get up before, Kitty. We have had such a lot to do, Sally and I, taking round supplies to the people who are flooded. Everybody is in quite good spirits--indeed, some of the children are thinking it first-rate fun.”

At the mention of the children Kitty broke down helplessly, and sobbed aloud.

”Dear me! And I have had such a lot of water all the morning, I did not expect a shower-bath here. What time do you expect Sally and me?

How long will it take to light up that blessed tree?”

Kitty uncovered one eye; Mr. Paul must be dreaming.

”I can't have it, you see.”

”Who said so? Sally and I have been planning all the morning how we shall order out all my waggons, and go round and fetch your guests--only you must not have the tree too late, or else we might lose our way in taking them home again.”

Kitty's joy could only find expressions in incoherent exclamations of delight.

”It's wonderfully kind of you,” said the rector, who appeared at that moment, and gradually gathered from Kitty what Paul proposed to do.

”It seems a pity the thing should be put off,” Paul answered a little awkwardly.

Perhaps no act of the squire's won such universal approbation as the spirited manner in which he carried through Miss Kitty's tree.

”You would not have thought as he was one to care about the little ones,” said Mrs. Macdonald to Sally.

”And I don't think, honestly, that he is,” Sally answered--”with the exception of Kitty Curzon; his devotion to her is something quite astonis.h.i.+ng.”

The tree had been, happily, trimmed the day before, and nothing therefore remained but for the guests to appear. One or two had to be fetched in a boat, and the cottage in the field had a special voyage to itself. There was a little child there that was a particular friend of Kitty's.

”It's very good of you to come, sir, but I'm not sure as I can let Jenny go; she's been ailing all day,” said the smiling mother, looking out at Paul from an upstairs window. ”She's felt the damp a bit. The water's begun to go down already. We'll be able to get downstairs again to-morrow; but, as I was saying to my mate, it will be the queerest Christmas Day we've ever spent.”

”Yes, indeed,” said Paul, hurriedly, anxious to cut short the disconnected speech; ”but I think you must let me have Jenny, Mrs.

Weldon. She's such a great friend of Kitty's, and we shall not have any more rain for the present. Put on an extra shawl. It will be fine fun for Jenny to have a ride in a boat.”

So Jenny, wrapped up so that only her eyes were visible, was handed out; and Paul rowed her across the field that separated her from dry land, popping her into a cart that waited on the far side.

Sally, meanwhile, was at the school arranging the children as they arrived, whilst Kitty's carriage was drawn up close to the tree, which was veiled under a sheet. Jenny Weldon was the last to arrive, and, when duly uncloaked, was given a place close to Kitty.

Then followed the lighting of the tree; and the dancing eyes of the children watched the process with untold delight. Joining hands they walked round it singing a quaint old Christmas carol, led by the rector's strong sonorous voice; and finally came the distribution of the presents.

Paul, as he stood quietly at the back of the room, thought the scene a pretty one. It was a beautiful tradition, that of the Christ Child; he could have almost wished it true.

”It has come to an end--I think it has really come to an end,” the rector said. ”But, stay, I find some little things tucked away at the very bottom of the tree; and here upon the labels are written 'Miss Lessing' and 'Mr. Lessing.' That is quite as it should be, for to whom do we owe the fact of your all being here to-night but to the squire, who planned and carried it out?”