And there was no denying that Anna’s suspicions were correct.  Before she and her proud mamma had reached the gates of Hillside, Kitty and Betty had stripped off the detested stockings, and were arraying themselves in their last summer’s muslin frocks, intending to be quite as partified as Anna; and Kitty tied her hair with a red ribbon, and Betty’s with a blue one to match her turquoise locket, and down they went to the feast.

Jabez had not yet arrived, but he was momentarily expected.  Dan was already there in his new “Eton’s,” with a sprig of mistletoe in his button-hole.  Tony was in his best white sailor suit, and Fanny and Grace had holly in their caps, and wore their Jubilee medals.  The table was loaded with cakes and pasties, and “splits” with cream and jam on them; and then, just as they were getting tired of waiting, Jabez arrived.  He was in his best suit, and was very shy, very embarrassed, yet very pleased at having been invited.

“Simmeth like old times, don’t it!” he gasped, seating himself on the extreme edge of the hard chair nearest the door, a chair and a position no one ever dreamed of occupying at any ordinary time.

To Kitty, who always felt shy if others were, it was as little like old times as could be, for every one seemed borne down with an unnatural politeness and quiet, and of them all Jabez suffered most.  He had never been asked to a party before, not a full-dress party, and he found it embarrassing.  But Dan came to the rescue, and with his jokes and his laughs and his funny stories soon made them all feel more at ease, so that by the time the first cups of tea were drunk, and the dish of “splits” emptied, the ice had been melted and all was going well.

“Jabez,” said Dan, turning to him with a very solemn face, “it is you we have to thank for this feast.”

Jabez stared, bewildered.  “I don’t take your meaning, sir,” he answered in a puzzled voice.  “Tedn’t nothing to do with me.  I am the invited guest, I am, and proud so to be.  I only wishes I’d a-got a bit of a place fitty for to ask ’ee and the young leddies to come to, sir.”

“Never mind, Jabez; we can wait.  Perhaps you’ll have one soon,” said Dan consolingly, and he glanced knowingly round the table, letting his eye rest for a moment longer on Fanny than any one else.  “By another Christmas we may—­dear me, I think this room must be very hot,” he remarked, breaking off abruptly to look at Fanny’s rosy cheeks.  But Fanny rather tartly told him to “go on with his tea and never mind nothing ’bout hot rooms, nor anything else that didn’t concern him,” and quite unabashed he turned to Jabez again.

“You see,” he explained, “if you hadn’t gone to father that day I shied the wood at you, we shouldn’t have had Aunt Pike here, and Fanny wouldn’t have asked us out here to tea because Aunt Pike was out, because, you see, she wouldn’t be here to go out, and we couldn’t be glad about her going, for we shouldn’t know anything about it to be glad about, and so there wouldn’t be anything special to ask us here for, and so—­”