but we had mince pies, and I am going to Kitty’s Christmas party to-morrow, and we shall dance—–­so Aunt Ada has given me a new white frock and a lovely Roman sash of her own.  Poor old Mrs. Vincent is dead, and Fergus’s great black rabbit, and poor little Mary Brown with dip—–­(blot).  I can’t spell it, and nobody is here to tell me how, but the thing in people’s throats, and poor Anne has got it, and Dr. Ellis says it was a mercy we were all away from home, for we should have had it too, and that would have been ever so much worse than the whooping-cough.

’I have lots of cards, but my presents are waiting for my birthday, when Maura is to come to tea.  It is much nicer than I thought the holidays would be.  Maura White has got the prize for French and Latin.  It is a lovely Shakespeare.  I wish I had been good, for I think I should have got it.  Only she does want more help than I do—–­ so perhaps it is lucky I did not.  No, I don’t mean lucky either.—–­ Your affectionate little daughter, VAL.’

(WILFRED.)

’DEAR MOTHER—–­Fergus is such a little ape that he will send you that disgusting coal mine on his card, as if you would care for it.  I know you will like mine much better—–­that old buffer skating into a hole in the ice.  I don’t mind being here, for though Harry and Davy get up frightfully early to go to church, they don’t want us down till they come back, and we can have fun all day, except when Harry screws me down to my holiday task, which is a disgusting one, about the Wars of the Roses.  Harry does look so rum now that he is got up for a parson that we did not know him when he met us at the station.  There was an awful row outside here last night between two sets of Waits.  David went out and parted them, and I thought he would have got a black eye.  All the choir had supper here, for there was a service in the middle of the night; but they did not want us at it, and on Tuesday we are to have a Christmas ship, and a magic-lantern, and Rollo and Mr. Bowater are coming to help—–­he is the clergyman at the next place—–­and no end of fun, and the biggest dog you ever saw.  Fergus has got one of his crazes worse than ever about old stones, and is always in the coal hole, poking after ferns and things.  Wishing you a merry Christmas.—–­Your affectionate son,
                                             ‘WILFRED MERRIFIELD.’

(MYSIE.)

’ROTHERWOOD, Christmas Day.

’MY OWN DEAREST MAMMA—–­A very happy Christmas to you, and papa and Claude and my sisters, and here are the cards, which Miss Elbury helped me about so kindly that I think they are better than usual:  I mean that she advised me, for no one touched them but myself.  You will like your text, I hope, I chose it because it is so nice to think we are all one, though we are in so many different places.  I did one with the same for poor Dolores in New Zealand.  Uncle William was here yesterday,