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 add some final touches while Mr. Jerrold disappeared into a cupboard to dress for the part of Santa Claus.

This unexpected nearness to Grace excited Derek. The expression of her face as she raised it when she lighted a candle was to him piercingly beautiful. Their hands touched. He drew his quickly away. He could not bear it. . . . Miss Pearsall hovered about the tree, ecstatic over dolls, work-boxes, horns, and jack-knives. "I feel a little, little child again," she breathed. And again she said, "My name is Joy. I am but two days old." Derek thought—"My God, this woman and Hobbs!"

Never was a handsomer, more jovial Santa Claus than Mr. Jerrold. Such a scarlet belted tunic, such a woolly white beard, such mirthful, sparkling, teasing eyes. He joked everyone as he handed down the presents, for he knew them all, and the little hall rocked and heaved with laughter; and the smell of the tree, and the smell of guttering candles, and the smell of hot children were delightfully mingled with the smell of fish that subtly pervaded all gatherings in Mistwell.

After the tree there were sandwiches, cakes, and coffee for everybody.

It was eleven o'clock when Mr. Jerrold with a grunt of relief pulled off his beard and wig and mopped his dripping head. "I wouldn't give up this treat for anything," he said.

"I have not forgotten those three little girls at your place," said Grace to Vale. "And here are two little china mugs and a work-box for them—and a bag of sweets and an orange apiece, too."

"Oh, that will be jolly for them! I'm such a duffer I had never given Christmas a thought."

Miss Pearsall flew to get coloured paper and ribbon to tie up the parcel. "Darling Gay," she said, "always so thoughtful."