t the mummers acting
at Christmas, when she was a little girl; and so we thought we'd be
mummers, and so we acted to Papa and Mamma, and so we thought we'd act
to the maids, but they were cleaning the passages, and so we thought
we'd really go mumming; and we've got several other houses to go to
before supper-time; we'd better begin, I think," said Robin; and
without more ado he began to march round and round, raising his sword
and shouting--

"I am St. George, who from Old England sprung,
My famous name throughout the world hath rung."

And the performance went off quite as creditably as before.

As the children acted the old man's anger wore off. He watched them
with an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hard
thwacks from St. George without flinching, the old man clapped his
hands; and, after the encounter between St. George and the Black
Prince, he said he would not have had the dogs excluded on any
consideration. It was just at the end, when they were all marching
round and round, holding on by each other's swords "over the
shoulder," and singing "A mumming we will go," &c., that Nicholas
suddenly brought the circle to a standstill by stopping dead short,
and staring up at the wall before him.

"What _are_ you stopping for?" said St. George, turning indignantly
round.

"Look there!" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hung
above the old man's head.

Robin looked, and said, abruptly, "It's Dora."

"Which is Dora?" asked the old man, in a strange, sharp tone.

"Here she is," said Robin and Nicholas in one breath, as they dragged
her forward.

"She's the Doctor," said Robin; "and you can't see her face for her
things. Dor, take off your cap and pull back that hood. There! Oh, it
_is_ like her!"

It was a portrait of her mother as a child; but of this the nursery
mummers knew nothing. The old man looked as the peaked cap and hood
fell away from Dora's face and fair curls, and then he uttered a sharp
cry, and buried his head upon his hands. The boys stood stupefied, but
Dora ran up to him, and putting her little hands on his arms, said, in
childish pitying tones, "Oh, I am so sorry! Have you got a headache?
May Robin put the shovel in the fire for you? Mamma has hot shovels
for her headaches." And, though the old man did not speak or move, she
went on coaxing him, and stroking his head, on which the hair was
white. At this moment Pax took one of his unexpected run