The next moment the spare-room seemed full of children, all, like Custard, in search of Patricia, and making, at sight of her, as swift an onslaught in her direction as the extreme length of their nightgowns would permit.

So, after all, Christmas morning began merrily for them, at least.

The doctor, coming home later from an early visit to the hotel, stopped outside Patricia’s open door.  “Merry Christmas, Pat!  Got your hands full?”

Patricia was kneeling on the floor, buttoning Tommy’s shoes.  “Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she answered, gaily; “I certainly have.”

Norma came slowly up to the doctor; she remembered him from last night; for in all the hurry and confusion of the moment he had found time for a few comforting words to the frightened, bewildered children.  “Have—­have you made Mama better?” she asked, wistfully.

The doctor sat down, taking her on his knee.  “What is your mother’s name, dear?”

“Mrs. Howard.”

The doctor brushed the child’s soft curls; and Patricia, seeing the gravity of his eyes, caught her breath.  “Your mother was resting very quietly when I left her just now, dear,” he said, gently; then he turned to Archibald.  “Did you find that trumpet in your stocking, young man?”

Archibald nodded.  “I want my—­”

“I found this!” Lydia held up one of Patricia’s many dolls.  They all crowded about him, claiming his attention, Totty demanding to be taken up.

“Got your hands full, Daddy?” Patricia laughed.

* * * * *

About the candle-lighted tree Patricia’s small guests circled admiringly.  It had been a merry Christmas for the little travel-wrecked strangers; and now, with the tree, had come the culminating point of this long happy day.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Norma came to lean against Patricia.  “I wish Mama could see it.”

“You must remember to tell her all about it,” Patricia answered.

“Will I see her to-morrow?” Norma asked longingly.

“Perhaps,” Patricia said; and when presently her father had to leave them, to go down to the hotel, she went with him to the door.  “Daddy, you’ll be back soon?”

“As soon as possible, dear.”

“And—­you think—­with good news for them—­all?”

“I hope so, dear.”

Patricia went back to the library with sober face.  “But at least,” she thought, taking Totty on her lap, “they’ll have had their Christmas.”

It was far from soon before the doctor returned.  Patricia’s charges were in bed and asleep.  Custard, who had been looking forward to bedtime all day, had retired to his basket—­a disillusioned dog.  To-night Archibald was finding all the solace needed in a gaily painted Noah’s Ark.  Miss Kirby was lying down in the sitting-room,—­she had not found it a day of unbroken calm,—­so that Patricia was alone in the library when her father returned.