‘I only say what I think, dear.’

Lydia for once succeeded in choosing wiser silence.  But that look which had no place upon her fair, open countenance came for a moment, a passing darkness which might be forecast of unhappy things.

At four o’clock on the following afternoon—­this Christmas fell on a Friday—­everything was ready in Walnut Tree Walk for Mr. Boddy’s arrival.  The overcoat, purchased by Lydia after a vast amount of comparing and selecting, of deciding and rejecting and redeciding, was carefully hidden, to be produced at a suitable moment.  The bitter coldness of the day gladdened the girls now that they knew the old man would go away well wrapped up.  This coat had furnished a subject for many an hour of talk between them, and now as they waited they amused themselves with anticipation of what Mr. Boddy would say, what he would think, how joyfully he would throw aside that one overcoat he did possess—­a garment really too far gone, and with no pretence of warmth in it.  Thyrza introduced a note of sadness by asking: 

’What ‘ll happen, Lyddy, if he gets that he can’t earn any thing?’

‘I sometimes think of that,’ Lydia replied gravely.  ’We couldn’t expect the Bowers to keep him there if be couldn’t pay his rent.  But I always hope that we shall be able to find what he needs.  It isn’t much, poor grandad!  And you see we can always manage to save something, Thyrza.’

’But it wouldn’t be enough—­nothing like enough for a room and meals, Lyddy.’

’Oh, we shall find a way Perhaps’—­she laughed—­’we shall have more money some day.’

Two rings at the bell on the lower landing announced their visitor’s arrival.  Lydia ran downstairs and returned with the old man, whose face was very red from the raw air.  He had a muffler wrapped about his neck, but the veteran overcoat was left behind, for the simple reason that Mr. Boddy felt he looked more respectable without it.  His threadbare black suit had been subjected to vigorous brushing, with a little exercise of the needle here and there.  A pair of woollen gloves, long kept for occasions of ceremony, were the most substantial article of clothing that he wore.  A baize bag, of which Lydia had relieved him, contained his violin.

‘I thought you’d maybe like a little music, my dear,’ he said as he kissed Thyrza.  ‘It’s cheerin’ when you don’t feel quite the thing.  I doubt you can’t sing though.’

‘Oh, the cold’s all gone,’ replied Thyrza.  ‘We’ll see, after tea.’

They made much of him, and it must have been very sweet to the poor old fellow to be so affectionately tended by these whom he loved as his own children.

Mary Bower came not long after tea, then Mr. Boddy took out his violin from the bag and played all the favourite old tunes, those which brought back their childhood to the two girls.  To please Mary, Lydia asked for a hymn-tune, one she had grown fond of in chapel.  Mary began to sing it, so Lydia got her hymn-book and asked Thyrza to sing with them.  The air was a sweet one, and Thyrza’s voice gave it touching beauty as she sang soft and low.  Other hymns followed; Mary Bower fell into her gentler mood and showed how pleasant she could be when nothing irritated her susceptibilities.  The hours passed quickly to nine o’clock, then Mary said it was time for her to go.