“Here’s a nice Christmas!” said our hero.  He had turned his youngest brother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legs over the side.  “Here’s a nice Christmas!  A fellow might just as well be at school.  I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being cooped up with a lot of children like this!  It’s his party to-night, and he’s to have champagne and ices.  I wish I were an only son.”

“Thank you,” said a chorus of voices from the floor.  They were all sprawling about on the hearth-rug, pushing and struggling like so many kittens in a sack, and every now and then with a grumbled remonstrance:—­

“Don’t, Jack! you’re treading on me.”

“You needn’t take all the fire, Tom.”

“Keep your legs to yourself, Benjamin.”

“It wasn’t I,” etc., with occasionally the feebler cry of a small sister—­

“Oh! you boys are so rough.”

“And what are you girls, I wonder?” inquired the proprietor of the arm-chair with cutting irony.  “Whiney piney, whiney piney.  I wish there were no such things as brothers and sisters!”

“You wish what?” said a voice from the shadow by the door, as deep and impressive as that of the ghost in Hamlet.

The ten sprang up; but when the figure came into the fire-light, they saw that it was no ghost, but Paterfamilias’s old college friend, who spent most of his time abroad, and who, having no home or relatives of his own, had come to spend Christmas at his friend’s vicarage.  “You wish what?” he repeated.

“Well, brothers and sisters are a bore,” was the reply.  “One or two would be all very well; but just look, here are ten of us; and it just spoils everything.  If a fellow wants to go anywhere, it’s somebody else’s turn.  If old Brown sends a basket of grapes, it’s share and share alike; all the ten must taste, and then there’s about a grape and a half for each.  If anybody calls or comes to luncheon, there are a whole lot of brats swarming about, looking as if we kept a school.  Whatever one does, the rest must do; whatever there is, the rest must share; whereas, if a fellow was an only son, he would have the whole—­and by all the rules of arithmetic, one is better than a tenth.”

“And by the same rules ten is better than one,” said the friend.

“Sold again,” sang out Master Jack from the floor, and went head over heels against the fender.

His brother boxed his ears with great promptitude, and went on, “Well, I don’t care; confess, sir, isn’t it rather a nuisance?”

Paterfamilias’s friend looked very grave, and said, quietly, “I don’t think I am able to judge.  I never had brother or sister but one, and he was drowned at sea.  Whatever I have had, I have had the whole of, and would have given it away willingly for some one to give it to.  If any one sent me grapes, I ate them alone.  If I made anything, there was no one to show it to.  If