On Christmas Eve she ran round to Paradise Street, to make arrangements for the next day. Evidently it would not be wise for Thyrza to leave home; that being the ease, it was decided that Mr. Boddy should come and have tea with the girls in their own room. Lydia talked over these things with Mary in the kitchen below the shop, where odours of Christmas fare were already rife. The parlour was full of noisy people, amid whom Mr. Bower was holding weighty discourse; the friends had gone below for privacy. 'So I shall keep the coat till he comes, Lydia said. 'I know Thyrza would like to see his poor old face when he puts it on. And you might come round yourself, Mary, just for an hour.' 'I'll see if I can.' 'I suppose you'll have people at night?' 'I don't know, I'm sure. I'd much rather come and sit with you, but mother may want me.' Lydia asked: 'Has Mr. Ackroyd been here lately?' 'I haven't seen him. I hope not.' 'Why do you say that, Mary?' asked Lydia impatiently. 'I only say what I think, dear.' Lydia for once succeeded in choosing wiser silence. But that look which had no place upon her fair, open countenance came for a moment, a passing darkness which might be forecast of unhappy things. At four o'clock on the following afternoon--this Christmas fell on a Friday--everything was ready in Walnut Tree Walk for Mr. Boddy's arrival. The overcoat, purchased by Lydia after a vast amount of comparing and selecting, of deciding and rejecting and redeciding, was carefully hidden, to be produced at a suitable moment. The bitter coldness of the day gladdened the girls now that they knew the old man would go away well wrapped up. This coat had furnished a subject for many an hour of talk between them, and now as they waited they amused themselves with anticipation of what Mr. Boddy would say, what he would think, how joyfully he would throw aside that one overcoat he did possess--a garment really too far gone, and with no pretence of warmth in it. Thyrza introduced a note of sadness by asking: 'What 'll happen, Lyddy, if he gets that he can't earn any thing?' 'I sometimes think of that,' Lydia replied gravely. 'We couldn't expect the Bowers to keep him there if he couldn't pay his rent. But I always hope that we shall be able to find what he needs. It isn't much, poor grandad! And you see we can always manage to save something, Thyrza.' 'But it wouldn't be enough--nothing like enough for a room and meals, Lyddy.' 'Oh, we shall find a way Perhaps'--she laughed--'we shall have more money some day.'