"Dear old boy!" he muttered to himself. "It's not surprising my father never forgot him. I wonder why the mater regards him with so deadly a hatred, though?" At lunch Mr. Graydon announced that Sir Anthony was going home for Christmas. There was a shrill expostulation from Sylvia, and even a mild protest from Mary, but Pamela said nothing. Perhaps it was not news to Pamela. "You will not be here for the skating," said Sylvia aggrievedly; "that is, if there's going to be any. And I've promised them at the Rectory that you'd recite at their penny reading and give away the presents at the Christmas-tree, besides managing the magic lantern. And, oh!"--the magnitude of the misfortune coming full upon her--"you're not surely going to miss the Vandaleur dinner?" "No, Miss Sylvia, I shall be here for it certainly. I wouldn't miss it for anything; but I object to your engagements for me with the Rectory people. I'd rather be shot than recite, and--the other things are beyond me," laughing. "Never mind, then," said the young lady airily. "Lord Glengall will do just as well. I shall like to see him distributing the articles. Besides, he will please the people better than a 'baronite,' and be of the rale ould blood, too." "Sylvia!" said her father, with a rebuke in his voice. "Never mind, papa dear. Sir Anthony understands all about his being only a 'baronite.' Bridget told him the other day that if the master had his rights 'tisn't teaching a 'Sir' he'd be." "So she did," said Sir Anthony. Mr. Graydon laughed. "Ah, well, my boy! you mustn't tell your mother what odd people you've found among the wild Irish--will you?" "She wouldn't understand a bit, but I'll tell her what dear friends I have found and made at Carrickmoyle." He blushed again, and Mr. Graydon thought how well his modesty became him. "Ah, well!" he said, "I suppose we must make up our minds to spend Christmas without you. What are you going to do this afternoon?" "I'm going to Maher's to see the mare, and put her through her paces. I'd like to have her stabled here as soon as possible. If she's ready, she can come at once." "To be sure. There's stabling for twenty horses here, though the stalls are bare--worse luck! But we won't let Sheila starve. Shall we, girls? I'll go bail these children will make a fine pet of her, Trevithick." "I shall be all the fonder of her, sir, though I'm well pleased with her at present." "She's a sweet little bit of horseflesh," assented Mr. Graydon. "I think I shall come with you, if you don't object to my company. I've a bit of business with Johnny myself." When they returned in time for the afternoon cup of tea, they found an old yellow barouche standing before the door. "Ah, Miss Spencer is here," said Mr. Graydon. "She's rather an oddity, my boy, so prepare to meet one." "I heard her story from Miss Pamela. It is very sad."