careful and willing traveller would have already begun to think about his
packing. Hence Bertie was in no mood to share in the festive spirit
which displayed itself around him, and resentment smouldered within him
at the eager, self-absorbed discussion of social plans for the coming
months which he heard on all sides. Beyond depressing his uncle and the
family circle generally by singing "Say au revoir, and not good-bye," he
had taken no part in the evening's conviviality.

Eleven o'clock had struck some half-hour ago, and the elder Steffinks
began to throw out suggestions leading up to that process which they
called retiring for the night.

"Come, Teddie, it's time you were in your little bed, you know," said
Luke Steffink to his thirteen-year-old son.

"That's where we all ought to be," said Mrs. Steffink.

"There wouldn't be room," said Bertie.

The remark was considered to border on the scandalous; everybody ate
raisins and almonds with the nervous industry of sheep feeding during
threatening weather.

"In Russia," said Horace Bordenby, who was staying in the house as a
Christmas guest, "I've read that the peasants believe that if you go into
a cow-house or stable at midnight on Christmas Eve you will hear the
animals talk. They're supposed to have the gift of speech at that one
moment of the year."

"Oh, _do_ let's _all_ go down to the cow-house and listen to what they've