t my luck," and two of the
children began to cry. Aunt Cyrilla took some apples and striped candy
sticks from her basket and carried them to them. She lifted the oldest
into her ample lap and soon had them all around her, laughing and
contented.

The rest of the travellers straggled over to the corner and drifted
into conversation. The khaki boy said it was hard lines not to get
home for Christmas, after all.

"I was invalided from South Africa three months ago, and I've been in
the hospital at Netley ever since. Reached Halifax three days ago and
telegraphed the old folks I'd eat my Christmas dinner with them, and
to have an extra-big turkey because I didn't have any last year.
They'll be badly disappointed."

He looked disappointed too. One khaki sleeve hung empty by his side.
Aunt Cyrilla passed him an apple.

"We were all going down to Grandpa's for Christmas," said the little
mother's oldest boy dolefully. "We've never been there before, and
it's just too bad."

He looked as if he wanted to cry but thought better of it and bit off
a mouthful of candy.

"Will there be any Santa Claus on the train?" demanded his small
sister tearfully. "Jack says there won't."

"I guess he'll find you out," said Aunt Cyrilla reassuringly.

The pale, pretty girl came up and took the baby from the tired mother.
"What a dear little fellow," she said softly.

"Are you going home for Christmas too?" asked Aunt Cyrilla.

The girl shook her head. "I haven't any home. I'm just a shop girl out
of work at present, and I'm going to Pembroke to look for some."

Aunt Cyrilla went to her basket and took out her box of cream candy.
"I guess we might as well enjoy ourselves. Let's eat it all up and
have a good time. Maybe we'll get down to Pembroke in the morning."

The little group grew cheerful as they nibbled, and even the pale girl
brightened up. The little mother told Aunt Cyrilla her story aside.
She had been long estranged from her family, who had disapproved of
her marriage. Her husband had died the previous summer, leaving her in
poor circumstances.

"Father wrote to me last week and asked me to let bygones be bygones
and come home for Christmas. I was so glad. And the children's hearts
were set on it. It seems too bad that we are not to get there. I have
to be back at work the morning after Christmas."

The khaki boy came up again and shared the candy. He told amusing
stories of campaigning in South Africa. The minister c