They replaced flattened March, then Sheila Pat went earnestly at the candles; bright and airy as a sprite, she skipped over them without putting out one. Molly was not so lucky. Her skirts were longer than the Atom’s, her giggles more helpless. Her jumps were wild, hopelessly crooked. She put out February and March, then stood on one leg, her skirts all bunched up in front, shaking with laughter. "_Don’t_ look at me! Oh, _mayn’t_ I begin again? _Denis_—don’t make me laugh!" She gathered her skirts together—thud, thud, thud, thud! In a wild rush April, May, June, July, were jumped triumphantly. "O dear!" She stopped again, breathless with giggles and frantic little squeals at each candle. Denis was shouting aloud at her desperate hops. "You’re like a one-legged frog, Mol! Go on! You mustn’t stop!" "I’ll _never_ do the rest! _Oh_!" She stumbled—kicked August over, trod on September, and fell headlong on October, November, and December. A horrible smell of burning arose. Herr Schmidt, with a torrent of guttural exclamations, rushed to her assistance. Ted also helped her to rise. The others simply collapsed and laughed. Two burnt holes in her skirt, and grease—grease—grease—were the extent of the damages. Molly lay on the lounge and groaned out:— "Oh, I _ache_! _Stop_ me laughing!" They cut a long candle in two and procured two fresh ones; then Nell went forward, light as Sheila Pat but not able to control her laughter so well, and jumped all successfully except February. A friend called to see Herr Schmidt and he went regretfully away. Denis skipped airily over the whole twelve candles, without a pause, and without putting out one. "Come on, Ted! It’s as easy as sleeping with your eyes shut!" "Wait a moment—I’ve an idea!" exclaimed Nell. "_No!_" "It’s not fair for you boys. How do you think I put out February? Why, with the whiff of my skirt! _You shall wear skirts_!" They draped them artistically with rugs and shawls, pinning them up till Ted declared ruefully that he moved in terror of his life. "Come on!" shouted Denis. "What’s a rug when you’ve got a good pair of legs! Houp la!" And he was staggering and stumbling helplessly, with January and February both out. "Where are your good pair of legs now?" "_I_ can do better than that. It requires a calm dignity and caution," observed Ted. "You were too rash, O.B., too Oirish altogether." He dragged his rugs and shawls together. "You’ve lit them again? Thanks. Now!" He jumped slowly, heavily, without any spring, cleared January successfully, and put out February with a fliff of his draperies. "Hang it all! That’s not fair. Why, it’s out before I’ve jumped the thing!" "Of course!" cried Nell, gleefully. "You’re too English altogether, Ted! You should be more careful with your skirt!" "Um." He eyed the candle reflectively, then cautiously stepped round it.