Beatrix received her old playfellow affectionately. She was more cheerful this evening than she had been since her father had forbidden her visits to the vicarage. ‘A most wonderful thing has happened, Bella,’ she said, when they had kissed. Bella had taken off her hat, and was comfortably seated in an arm chair by the fire. ‘Miss Scales has gone for a fortnight’s holiday, and you and I are to be our own mistresses all Christmas time.’ ‘How nice!’ cried Bella. ‘Isn’t it? My father did not at all like it, I believe. But an old aunt of Miss Scales--an aunt who is supposed to have money--has been so kind as to get dangerously ill, and Miss Scales has been sent for to attend her sick bed. She lives in some unknown corner of Devonshire, quite at the other end of the map, so less than a fortnight’s leave of absence would hardly have been any use, and papa was compelled to give it. I am to pay no visits, but I may drive where I like in the pony carriage on fine days--and ride as often as Jarvis will let me.’ Jarvis was the groom who had taught Beatrix to ride her pony ten years ago, when Mr. Namby had suggested riding as a healthy exercise for the pale and puny child. ‘It will be very nice,’ said Bella. ‘Very nice for me. But I’m afraid it will be a dreadfully dull Christmas for you, Bella. You will wish yourself at home. Christmas must be so cheerful in a large family.’ ‘I can endure the loss of a home Christmas with exemplary resignation,’ replied Bella, with a graceful little shrug of her pretty shoulders. ‘I think if there is one time more trying than another in our house, it is Christmas. The children have a vague idea that they are going to enjoy themselves--and it shows a wonderful gift of blind faith that they can have such an idea after so many disappointments. They make the parlours uncomfortable with holly and laurel, and club together for a bunch of mistletoe to hang in the passage--they make poor ma promise them snapdragon and hot elder wine--and then on Christmas Eve one of the boys contrives to break a window--or to upset papa’s office inkstand, which holds about a quart, and then the whole family are in disgrace. Papa and mamma have words--the beef is underdone on Christmas day, and papa uses awful language about the housekeeping--the boys go out for an afternoon walk to avoid the storm indoors, and perhaps get caught in the rain out of doors and spoil their best clothes. After tea pa and ma have a long talk by the fire, while we young ones squabble over ‘vingt et un’ at the table, and we know by their faces that they are talking about the new year’s bills, and then we all go to bed feeling miserable, without exactly knowing why.’ ‘Poor Bella,’ said Beatrix compassionately. ‘It does seem very hard that some people should have more money than they know what to do with, and others so much too little. It’s quite puzzling. The trees and flowers have everything equally, sun and rain, and dew and frost.’