This was rather exciting; and Kitty spent her morning with her chair drawn close to the window, which commanded the best view of the village, and saw carts drawn by pairs of horses splashing along to some of the cottages. And to one cottage, standing alone in a low-lying field, she saw a boat making its way; she was almost sure that the man who rowed it was her friend Mr. Paul. Later in the morning he paid her a visit, with a red colour in his face and a cheery ring in his voice. "I could not get up before, Kitty. We have had such a lot to do, Sally and I, taking round supplies to the people who are flooded. Everybody is in quite good spirits--indeed, some of the children are thinking it first-rate fun." At the mention of the children Kitty broke down helplessly, and sobbed aloud. "Dear me! And I have had such a lot of water all the morning, I did not expect a shower-bath here. What time do you expect Sally and me? How long will it take to light up that blessed tree?" Kitty uncovered one eye; Mr. Paul must be dreaming. "I can't have it, you see." "Who said so? Sally and I have been planning all the morning how we shall order out all my waggons, and go round and fetch your guests--only you must not have the tree too late, or else we might lose our way in taking them home again." Kitty's joy could only find expressions in incoherent exclamations of delight. "It's wonderfully kind of you," said the rector, who appeared at that moment, and gradually gathered from Kitty what Paul proposed to do. "It seems a pity the thing should be put off," Paul answered a little awkwardly. Perhaps no act of the squire's won such universal approbation as the spirited manner in which he carried through Miss Kitty's tree. "You would not have thought as he was one to care about the little ones," said Mrs. Macdonald to Sally. "And I don't think, honestly, that he is," Sally answered--"with the exception of Kitty Curzon; his devotion to her is something quite astonishing." The tree had been, happily, trimmed the day before, and nothing therefore remained but for the guests to appear. One or two had to be fetched in a boat, and the cottage in the field had a special voyage to itself. There was a little child there that was a particular friend of Kitty's. "It's very good of you to come, sir, but I'm not sure as I can let Jenny go; she's been ailing all day," said the smiling mother, looking out at Paul from an upstairs window. "She's felt the damp a bit. The water's begun to go down already. We'll be able to get downstairs again to-morrow; but, as I was saying to my mate, it will be the queerest Christmas Day we've ever spent." "Yes, indeed," said Paul, hurriedly, anxious to cut short the disconnected speech; "but I think you must let me have Jenny, Mrs. Weldon. She's such a great friend of Kitty's, and we shall not have any more rain for the present. Put on an extra shawl. It will be fine fun for Jenny to have a ride in a boat."