First the jellies and trifles and blanc-manges, then the meat pies,
pastries, sausage rolls, sandwiches, biscuits, and cakes--sugar-coated,
cream-interlayered, full of plums and nuts and fruit. William's mother
had had wide experience and knew well what food most appealed to small
boys and girls. Moreover she had provided plentifully for her twenty
guests.
The little girl was past speech. The woman looked at them in dumb
wonder. Then:
"Why, you're the boy she was talkin' to," she said at last. "It's real
kind of you. She was gettin' that upset. It 'ud have broke her heart
if nothin' had come an' I couldn't do nothin'. It's real kind of yer,
sir!" Her eyes were misty.
Joan placed the last cake on the table, and William, who was rather
warm after his exertions, removed his scarf.
The child gave a little sobbing laugh.
"Oh, isn't it _lovely_? I'm so happy! You're the funny boy, aren't
you, dressed up as Father Christmas? Or did Father Christmas send you?
Or were you Father Christmas all the time? May I kiss the fairy? Would
she mind? She's so beautiful!"
Joan came forward and kissed her shyly, and the woman on the bed
smiled unsteadily.
"It's real kind of you both," she murmured again.
Then the door opened, and the lord and master of the house entered
after his six months' absence. He came in no sheepish hang-dog
fashion. He entered cheerily and boisterously as any parent might on
returning from a hard-earned holiday.
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