“Don’t go on too long, Everard.” Mrs. Oliver was afraid his head would ache. “Needs must, I’m afraid, when a certain person drives. The certain person in this case being represented by poor old Taggert.” Poor old Taggert was connected with another Church paper, higher than the _Guardian_, and he had been writing in this paper long challenges to the Dean “to satisfactorily explain” what he had meant by certain expressions used by him in his last letter on Revision. The Dean could satisfactorily explain anything, and found it an agreeable exercise, but one that took time and energy. “Frightful waste of time, _I_ call it,” said Daphne, when the door was shut. “Because they never will agree, and they don’t seem to get any further by talking. Why don’t they toss up or something, to see who’s right? Or draw lots. Long one, revise it all, middle one, revise it as father and his lot want, short one, let it alone, like the _Church Times_ and Canon Jackson want.” “Don’t be silly, dear,” said her mother, absently. “Some day,” added Eddy, “you may be old enough to understand these difficult things, dear. Till then, try and be seen and not heard.” “Anyhow,” said Daphne, “I go out.... I believe this is rather a footling game, really. It doesn’t amuse one more than a week. I’d rather play bridge, or hide and seek.” Christmas passed, as Christmas will pass, only give it time. They kept it at the deanery much as they keep it at other deaneries, and, indeed, in very many homes not deaneries. They did up parcels and ran short of brown paper, and bought more string and many more stamps, and sent off cards and cards, and received cards and cards and cards, and hurried to send off more cards to make up the difference (but some only arrived on Christmas Day, a mean trick, and had to wait to be returned till the new year), and took round parcels, and at last rested, and Christmas Day dawned. It was a bright frosty day, with ice, etcetera, and the Olivers went skating in the afternoon with the Bellairs, round and round oranges. Eddy taught Molly a new trick, or step, or whatever those who skate call what they learn, and Daphne and the Bellairs boys flew about hand-in-hand, graceful and charming to watch. In the night it snowed, and next day they all tobogganed. “I haven’t seen Molly looking so well for weeks,” said Molly’s mother to her father, though indeed Molly usually looked well. “Healthy weather,” said Colonel Bellairs, “and healthy exercise. I like to see all those children playing together.” His wife liked it too, and beamed on them all at tea, which the Olivers often came in to after the healthy exercise.