"A Merry Christmas!" "Shure and ’tis afther the same I’d be wishing you entirely, at all, at all!" came the sonorous response. "Shure and ’tis the Oirish are afther being the gradely folks on this earrth, me beautiful honour, your leddyship!" "You’re not Irish!" shrilled out an indignant little voice. "Och, begorra, and would yez be insulting us now, at all, at all, your honour? Shure ’tis the Oirish we are, thin, and long may they live, hoots toots! Ochone!" Nell flung down a piece of holly she was wearing in her waist belt; she flung it waveringly, overcome with mirth. Denis shouted aloud. Of all of them the Atom alone refused to even smile. "I object to hypocrites," she said dignifiedly. "I wonder how they found out we are Irish?" pondered Molly. "I suppose it was just an odd coincidence—their singing ’Rory O’More,’ and then they found out by our brogues!" laughed Nell. It was that same evening that, fired by "Rory O’More," they left their toys and trooped down to the cold drawing-room and sang and played. Sheila Pat, leaving the room for something, found Herr Schmidt on the mat outside the door, listening. "I lof ze music so much!" he excused himself hurriedly. "It was so beautiful—the lovely voices—full of music! You will pardon me, Fräulein?" Sheila Pat bowed. "With the greatest pleasure. Please come in." Later on he begged them to use his piano any time they wished. "We _must_ finish packing the hospital toys to-night!" said Nell, and sped up the stairs. A few minutes later Ted came in. "How are you, N-N-Nell?" "Quite well, thank you, T-T-Ted." "Sheila Pat," tweaking her pig-tail, "don’t they grow straight pig-tails in Ireland?" "Please don’t be foolish," said Sheila Pat, ramming a fur rabbit into the box. He looked at Nell and raised his eyebrows. "Sheila Pat’s cross still, aren’t you, Atom?" Nell said. "I’m innoyed." "Tell me about it," he begged. Denis glanced up from a letter he was writing, then bent his head again. "Two wicked hypocrites came and they told stories, too. He said he was Irish! _Irish_, was it? Sure ’twas sooner goriller-monkeys they’d be! They sang outside, and we gave them some money. Did they think we were unborned babies that they’d be sayin’ they were Irish?" "What a double-dyed villain!" Ted said with grave disapproval. "I’d knew _you_ wouldn’t be laughin’ and thinkin’ it funny." She paused to watch Nell. Nell was coming straight at Ted; once in front of him, she pointed a tragic forefinger first at a sixpence that dangled on his watch-chain, and then at a spray of holly in his button-hole. He gazed back at her amusedly. "Sheila Pat! Molly! Out on him! Oh, the thraitor! The wicked thraitor! Don’t you see? It was Ted—_Ted Lancaster_! Behold, the holly! Behold, my ill-gotten sixpence! Mine own familiar friend! What shall we do to him? Girls, what shall we do to him?"