"Now, old chap, make haste and get well, and don't moon over yourself
and your feelings. And come down to our place for Christmas, won't you?
You're getting quite in the blues by being so much alone."

These were Major Lovell's parting words, and Sir Edward responded,--

"No, thanks; I prefer being at home this Christmas. Why, I doubt if I
shall leave my room by that time; I am as weak as a baby."

The week before Christmas Sir Edward was in an easy chair in the
library, and, though still an invalid, was now making rapid progress
towards recovery. He was conning over an article he had just written,
before a blazing fire, when there was a knock at the door. A frown came
to his face as he turned to see who the intruder was, but disappeared at
the sight of his little niece, rosy and breathless, in out-door
garments, and hugging a large piece of holly in her arms.

"Uncle Edward, he has come!"

"Who has come?"

"Tommy--he really and truly has. Ford told me just as I came in with
nurse. He heard it from Harris, and Harris heard it from Maxwell
himself. He said, 'My lad has come, tell little missy,' and Ford says
Harris said, 'He looked as if he could dance a jig for joy!' Oh, Uncle
Edward, may I go to them? Nurse says it's too late, but I do want to be
there. There's such a lot to be done now he has really come; and, Uncle
Edward, may they kill one of the cows in the farm that are being fatted
up? There's no calf, I'm afraid. May they? And may I go and tell them