entleman called Doubleday is
announced. Every one welcomes the visitor warmly, and room is made for
him in the magic circle.

"Thought I'd call and pay my respects," says Mr Doubleday, bobbing to
the ladies. "Jolly snug little box you've got here, too."

"Yes, it is snug," says Jack.

"Glad to see you settled down before I go," says the other. "Settled
down both here and at Hawk Street too, eh?"

"I'm awfully sorry you're going abroad," says Jack, "we shall miss you
badly."

"Oh, I'll soon be back. You see, it's rather a good offer, this Bombay
agency, and I'm bound to have to hop over to the old country every now
and then to look you up."

"The oftener the better," says every one.

Mr Doubleday fidgets a bit in his chair, and then remarks, "I say,
Smith, excuse my saying it, but I'm very glad you ever came to Hawk
Street, and I may as well tell you so."

Jack is about to say something, but Doubleday is before him.

"I know what you're going to say, but it's a fact. Batch here thinks so
too."

Mr Fred assents warmly.

"Fact is," says Doubleday, "I don't know how you did the trick, but
you've drawn more than one of us out of Queer Street."

"What do you--" begins Jack, but Doubleday continues, "Of course you'll
deny it, but no one believes you; do they, Batch? Why, even Crow was
saying yesterday--"

"That's Flanikin," exclaimed Billy at this point, as another ring
sounded at the door.

This interruption, though it cuts short Mr Doubleday's speech, is a
decidedly pleasant one; and when a burly, rosy-faced Irish gentleman
enters and joins the party the magic circle seems finally complete.

I need not recount all the talk of that happy Christmas evening. It was
a merry Christmas, without doubt, though not a boisterous one. No one
seemed to want any better enjoyment than chatting over old times, or
sitting and listening while others chatted; and when Mary's sweet voice
rang out presently in the words of some of the grand old Christmas
hymns, the joy that lit up more than one face in the happy group spoke
more eloquently than words of the true happiness which this season of
peace and goodwill brought to their hearts.

In due time the hands of the little clock crawl round to eleven, and the
two visitors rise to leave.

When they are gone the rest of the party once more draw in round the
fire. By some accident, I suppose, Mr Fred's chair finds itself next
to Miss Mary's, which, as it turns out, i