"Who sent 'em!" finished Lord Chesterfield. "And Grandmother Radcliffe she reckons maybe Lady Ariel is a princess in disguise and she sent 'em." "A princess in disguise!" exclaimed Aunt Cheerful. "Dear, dear, that would be strange!" "And maybe," went on Lord Chesterfield in growing excitement, "maybe your Ladyship will rec'lect how my dog medicines were gettin' pretty low and owin' to er--to--er--" His Lordship cleared his throat with a prodigious "Hum!--I beg your Ladyship's pardon but--er--were financial embarrassments just the words you told me that time?" "Financial embarrassment!" nodded Aunt Cheerful gravely. "Owing to my financial embarrassments I couldn't buy more till after Christmas and--and this morning, ma'am, there was an express package for me with witch-hazel and arnica and sponges and liniments and bandages and mos' a reg'lar doctor's outfit in it. Mos' likely I'll 'speriment on Carlo's rheumatism to-night with a new liniment." "Now I do wonder," mused Aunt Cheerful absently, "if your mysterious friend could possibly be the one who keeps my garden so trim and chops my kindlings. Dear, dear! What a very strange and mysterious place Westowe has become!" Lord Chesterfield's fine little face colored hotly. "I hardly think they are the same," he owned honestly; then, quick contrition in his eyes, he vaulted lightly over the window sill and drew a letter from his pocket. "Oh, Lady Cheerful," he apologized, "I do beg your Ladyship's pardon. Fact is, I--I mos' forgot your letter!" "Why, bless your heart, child," exclaimed Aunt Cheerful warmly, "who wouldn't forget a letter with such a magic box on his mind! Your Lordship will pardon me if I read it this very minute? It's from my son!" And Lord Chesterfield bowed a courtly acquiescence. So with swift color in her cheeks, Aunt Cheerful read, but as she read her hand began to tremble and suddenly the letter fluttered unheeded to the floor and a great tear rolled slowly down her face and splashed on the white woolen gown. And even as he watched, his grave little face perturbed, the mantle of formal courtesy vanished and Lord Chesterfield sprang forward, a kindly little lad alive with sympathy. "Oh, Aunt Cheerful," he blurted boyishly, "I'm _awfully_ sorry!" But with a muffled sob Aunt Cheerful patted his arm, taking refuge in the words of the game they played. "It--it is nothing at all, Lord Chesterfield, I assure you!" she said bravely. "My busy son writes me that--that after all he can not come for Christmas."