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“Who’s Sarah?” asked the grandfather.

“She’s our nurse,” said Robin; “and she tells–I mustn’t say what she tells,–but it’s not the truth. She told one about you the other day,” he added.

“About me?” said the old man.

“She said you were our grandpapa. So then I knew she was telling ‘you know what.'”

“How did you know it wasn’t true?” the old man asked.

“Why, of course,” said Robin, “if you were our mamma’s father, you’d know her, and be fond of her, and come and see her. And then you’d be our grandfather, too, and you’d have us to see you, and perhaps give us Christmas-boxes. I wish you were,” Robin added, with a sigh; “it would be very nice.”

“Would you like it?” asked the old man of Dora.

And Dora, who was half asleep and very comfortable, put her little arms about his neck as she was wont to put them round the Captain’s, and said, “Very much.”

He put her down at last, very tenderly, almost unwillingly, and left the children alone. By-and-by he returned, dressed in the blue cloak, and took Dora up again.

“I will see you home,” he said.

The children had not been missed. The clock had only just struck nine when there came a knock on the door of the dining-room, where the Captain and his wife sat still by the Yule-log. She said “Come in,” wearily, thinking it was the frumenty and the Christmas cakes.

But it was her father, with her child in his arms!

VIII.

Lucy Jane Bull and her sisters were quite old enough to understand a good deal of grownup conversation when they overheard it. Thus, when a friend of Mrs. Bull’s observed, during an afternoon call, that she believed that “officers wives were very dressy,” the young ladies were at once resolved to keep a sharp lookout for the Captain’s wife’s bonnet in church on Christmas day.

The Bulls had just taken their seats when the Captain’s wife came in. They really would have hid their faces, and looked at the bonnet afterwards, but for the startling sight that met the gaze of the congregation. The old grandfather walked into the church abreast of the Captain.

“They’ve met in the porch,” whispered Mr. Bull, under the shelter of his hat.

“They can’t quarrel publicly in a place of worship,” said Mrs. Bull, turning pale.

“She’s gone into his seat,” cried Lucy Jane, in a shrill whisper.

“And the children after her,” added the other sister, incautiously aloud.

There was no doubt about the matter. The old man, in his blue cloak, stood for a few moments politely disputing the question of precedence with his handsome son-in-law. Then the Captain bowed and passed in, and the old man followed him.

By the time that the service was ended everybody knew of the happy peace-making, and was glad. One old friend after another came up with blessings and good wishes. This was a proper Christmas, indeed, they said. There was a general rejoicing.

But only the grandfather and his children knew that it was hatched from “The Peace Egg.”

By a Bavarian Comrade.

“Over his tumbler of Gukguk he
sat reading journals, sometimes
contemplatively looking into
the clouds of his tobacco-pipe:
an agreeable phenomenon,–more
especially when he opened
his lips for speech.”

Carlyle.