Jack flushed and bit his lips.

"Quite so! There are. Fifty miles away, and not a spare bed in the
house. Lot of good they are to us, to be sure! Were you going to suggest
that we dropped in for a quiet call? Silly nonsense, to talk of a thing
like that."

Jack was quite testy and huffed, for the suggestion touched a tender
point. The Revells were the friends _par excellence_ of the family of
which he was the youthful head. It seemed, indeed, as if the two
households had been specially manufactured so that each should fit the
wants of the other. Jack was very certain that, in any case, Myra Revell
supplied all that _he_ lacked, and the very thought of spending
Christmas Day in her company sent a pang of longing through his heart.
Margaret cherished a romantic admiration for Mrs. Revell, who was still
a girl at heart despite the presence of a grown-up family. Dennis was at
Marlborough with Tom; while Pat or Patricia was Peg's bosom chum.

What could you wish for more? A Christmas spent with the Revells would
be a pure delight; but alas! fifty miles of some of the wildest and
bleakest country in England stretched between the two homes, which,
being on different lines of railway, were inaccessible by the ordinary
route. Moreover, the Revells were, as they themselves cheerfully
declared, "reduced paupers," and inhabited a picturesquely dilapidated
old farmhouse, and the problem, "_Where do they all sleep?_" was as
engrossing as a jig-saw puzzle to their inquisitive friends. Impossible
that even a cat could be invited to swing itself within those crowded
portals; equally impossible to attempt to separate such an affectionate
family at Christmas-time of all seasons of the year.