Your own mother.

When Bertie Fellows received this letter, which ended all his Christmas hopes and joys, he hid his face upon his desk and sobbed aloud.  The lonely boy from India, who sat next to him, tried to comfort his friend in every way he could think of.  He patted his shoulder and whispered many kind words to him.

At last Bertie put the letter into Tom’s hands.  “Read it,” he sobbed.

So then Tom understood the cause of Bertie’s grief.  “Don’t fret over it,” he said at last.  “It might be worse.  Why, your father and mother might be thousands of miles away, like mine are.  When Alice is better, you will be able to go home.  And it will help your mother if she thinks you are almost as happy as if you could go now.”

Soon Miss Ware came to tell Bertie how sorry she was for him.

“After all,” said she, smiling down on the two boys, “it is an ill wind that blows nobody good.  Poor Tom has been expecting to spend his holidays alone, and now he will have a friend with him—­Try to look on the bright side, Bertie, and to remember how much worse it would have been if there had been no boy to stay with you.”

“I can’t help being disappointed, Miss Ware,” said Bertie, his eyes filling with tears.

“No; you would be a strange boy if you were not.  But I want you to try to think of your poor mother, and write her as cheerfully as you can.”

“Yes,” answered Bertie; but his heart was too full to say more.

The last day of the term came, and one by one, or two by two, the boys went away, until only Bertie and Tom were left in the great house.  It had never seemed so large to either of them before.

“It’s miserable,” groaned poor Bertie, as they strolled into the schoolroom.  “Just think if we were on our way home now—­how different.”

“Just think if I had been left here by myself,” said Tom.

“Yes,” said Bertie, “but you know when one wants to go home he never thinks of the boys that have no home to go to.”

The evening passed, and the two boys went to bed.  They told stories to each other for a long time before they could go to sleep.  That night they dreamed of their homes, and felt very lonely.  Yet each tried to be brave, and so another day began.

This was the day before Christmas.  Quite early in the morning came the great box of which Bertie’s mother had spoken in her letter.  Then, just as dinner had come to an end, there was a peal of the bell, and a voice was heard asking for Tom Egerton.

Tom sprang to his feet, and flew to greet a tall, handsome lady, crying, “Aunt Laura!  Aunt Laura!”

And Laura explained that she and her husband had arrived in London only the day before.  “I was so afraid, Tom,” she said, “that we should not get here until Christmas Day was over and that you would be disappointed.  So I would not let your mother write you that we were on our way home.  You must get your things packed up at once, and go back with me to London.  Then uncle and I will give you a splendid time.”