"Well, I give it up," said Mr. Penthorn, finishing his coffee. "If you _were_ awake, Strange, someone must have been essaying a little sleight-of-hand upon you. Good-morning, all of you; I must be off to my patients. Tom Heriot, don't you get trying the ponds yet, or maybe I shall have you on my hands as well as other people." We gave it up also: and nothing more was said or thought of it, as far as I know. We were not, I repeat, a superstitious family. Papa went about his duties as usual, and Leah went about hers. The next day, Saturday, Mrs. Strange and Blanche returned home; and the cold grew sharper and the frozen ponds were lovely. On Monday afternoon, the last day of the year, the Rector mounted old Dobbin, to ride to the next parish. He had to take a funeral for the incumbent, who was in bed with gout. "Have his shoes been roughed?" asked Tom, standing at the gate with me to watch the start. "Yes; and well roughed too, Master Tom," spoke up James, who had lived with us longer than I could remember, as gardener, groom, and general man-of-all-work. "'Tisn't weather, sir, to send him out without being rough-shod." "You two boys had better get to your Latin for an hour, and prepare it for me for to-morrow; and afterwards you may go to the ponds," said my father, as he rode away. "Good-bye, lads. Take care of yourself, Charley." "Bother Latin!" said Tom. "I'm going off now. Will you come, youngster?" "Not till I've done my Latin." "You senseless young donkey! Stay, though; I must tell the mamsie something." He made for the dining-room, where Mrs. Strange sat with Blanche. "Look here, mamsie," said he; "let us have a bit of a party to-night." "A party, Tom!" she returned. "Just the young Penthorns and the Clints." "Oh, do, mamma!" I cried, for I was uncommonly fond of parties. And "Do, mamma!" struck in little Blanche. My new mother rarely denied us anything; but she hesitated now. "I think not to-night, dears. You know we are going to have the school-treat tomorrow evening, and the servants are busy with the cakes and things. They shall come on Wednesday instead, Tom." Tom laughed. "They _must_ come to-night, mamsie. They _are_ coming. I have asked them." "What--the young Penthorns?" "_And_ the young Clints," said Tom, clasping his stepmother, and kissing her. "They'll be here on the stroke of five. Mind you treat us to plenty of tarts and cakes, there's a good mamsie!" Tom went off with his skates. I got to my books. After that, some friends came to call, and the afternoon seemed to pass in no time. "It is hardly worth while your going to the ponds now, Master Charles," said Leah, meeting me in the passage, when I was at last at liberty.