"Well, if she was with us in spirit last Christmas--when we were so jolly miserable, and I had that bad influenza, and Charley sprained his foot, and we had hardly any Christmas dinner and no Christmas-boxes at all except the things we managed to make with the old carpenter's tools, and when father forgot to come home till the evening, and you began to cry and said that he had been run over by an omnibus--if mother was with us in spirit when we were all really wretched, don't you think she will be twenty times more in spirit with us now when we are all jolly and good and good-humoured? If our mother is an angel in heaven--and I suppose you believe she is--she must be blessing that sweet woman Grace Donnithorne, as you used to call her, every moment of the time. Oh, there! I needn't say any more. I'll let Von Marlo have a talk with you." "But he sha'n't--I won't be talked to," I said. I rushed away up to my own room. In spite of myself, my feelings were arrested by Alex's words. For a moment I knelt down and said to God, "Please let me feel kindly towards my step-mother; please let me have a really nice Christmas Day." After that it was wonderful how my spirits were soothed and how much happier I felt. Christmas Eve ended in fun and games and all sorts of preparations for the merriest Christmas which was to follow, and we all went to bed in high good-humour. PART TWO, CHAPTER FOUR. CHRISTMAS DAY. My presents were much appreciated, although it is true that father looked somewhat dubiously at his inkpot. He asked me how it was opened. I described the exact method by which he was to press the spring, and he remarked then that it would take time. "But," I said, "you see there is a kind of sponge with a leather cover to it, which presses down into the bottle and prevents every scrap of air from getting in, so that the ink keeps much longer." "Yes; but the period it takes from one's existence!" remarked father. Then he glanced at me. "Never mind," he said; "you meant well. I am always willing to admit it when any one means well." Now, I had actually spent a pound of my money on this inkstand of father's--one-tenth of my quarter's allowance--and all the praise I got was that I meant well. Von Marlo came up to me and said, "It is a most wonderful and cleverly constructed inkstand. I tell you what--whenever I come over to your house I'll see that it's dusted and kept in order. I'll look after it myself. I think it's quite lovely." I had given Von Marlo a nice little tablet for notes, which he professed to be delighted with; and I had given my step-mother a new sort of diary with a lock and key. There was no one whom I had forgotten. Even Augusta was in raptures with the very driest book on mathematics that I could pick up. She said that for once she believed I was a thoroughly sensible girl.