“Maybe it won’t be exactly a ’merry Christmas’,” Patricia began—­“Nell, listen!”

From upstairs came a prolonged wail.

“Totty!” Patricia cried.

* * * * *

It was more than an hour later when the doctor and Miss Kirby drove slowly up the snow-covered drive.  “I am afraid Patricia has had rather a lonely Christmas eve,” Miss Kirby said.

“It looks as if she had gone to bed,” her brother answered; “the door would have been open by this time, if she were on hand.”

Miss Kirby went directly upstairs to take off her things; in the upper hall she caught the flicker of firelight through her own and Patricia’s half-opened doors; and although ordinarily she did not care for a fire in her room at night, the knowledge that there was one awaiting her now brought a sense of comfort.  Probably Patricia had thought she would be cold and tired—­Patricia was really very considerate at times.

Three minutes later Miss Kirby was standing in the middle of her room, staring with wide, amazed eyes at her very much occupied bed.

Two children and a dog!

Involuntary, she lowered the light, so as not to awaken the sleepers.  Two children and a dog!  Could it be the effect of over-wrought nerves?  Then she recognized Custard.

Custard was blinking sleepily up at her, but he did not move.  He may have realized the desirability of not disturbing his companions, or he may have concluded that possession was nine-tenths of the law; with a little audacious sigh of comfort, he tucked his head down and dropped off to sleep again.

Miss Kirby turned towards Patricia’s room.  A moment after, the doctor heard her calling to him softly from the landing.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“Come and see!” Miss Kirby was almost hysterical.

“Patricia isn’t—?”

“Come and see!” Miss Kirby led the way to her room, pointing dramatically to the bed.

The doctor surveyed the trio within it.  “Upon my—­” his lips twitched.  “No one from around here!  Evidently, Patricia has—­”

“Suppose you look in Patricia’s room,” Miss Kirby suggested.

Going to the door, the doctor gave one brief, comprehensive glance; then he turned:  “And how many in my room?”

Miss Kirby gasped.  “I’ll go see.”

“None,” she reported, “and none in the spare-room.  Patrick, these must be children from—­the hotel.  Oh dear, was there ever such a girl!”

The doctor looked about him, more slowly this time, seeing Lydia in the bed, Norma on the lounge; seeing the little, flushed contented faces; seeing the stockings hanging ready for the morning from the mantelpiece; seeing, and here his glance rested longest, Patricia in a low chair before the fire, Totty in her arms, both fast asleep; noting the tired droop of the dark head against the baby’s yellow one.