were supplied for the next half-hour
at least, she began as follows:--

"A CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE.

"On the twenty-second of December, in the year eighteen hundred and
fifty----" "No," said aunty, stopping short, "I can't tell you the year.
Molly would make all sorts of dreadful calculations on the spot, as
to my exact age, and the date at which the first grey hairs might be
looked for--I will only say eighteen hundred and _something_."

"_Fifty_ something," said Molly promptly. "You did say that, aunty."

"Terrible child!" said aunty. "Well, never mind, I'll begin again. On the
twenty-second of December, in a certain year, I, Laura Berkeley, set out
with my elder sister Mary, on a long journey. We were then living on the
western coast of England, or Wales rather; we had to cross the whole
country, for our destination was the neighbourhood, a few miles inland,
of a small town on the _eastern_ coast. Our journey was not one of
pleasure--we were not going to spend 'a merry Christmas' with near and
dear friends and relations. We were going on business, and our one idea
was to get it accomplished as quickly as possible, and hurry home to our
parents again, for otherwise their Christmas would be quite a solitary
one. And as former Christmases--before we children had been scattered,
before there were vacant chairs round the fireside--had been among the
happiest times of the year in our family, as in many others, we felt
doubly reluctant to risk spending it apart from each other, we four--all
that were left now!

"'It is dreadfully cold, Mary,' I said, when we were fairly off, dear
mother gazing wistfully after us, as the train moved out of the station
and her figure on the platform grew smaller and smaller, till at last
we lost sight of it altogether. 'It is dreadfully cold, isn't it?'

"We were tremendously well wrapped up--there were hot-water tins in the
carriage, and every comfort possible for winter travellers. Yet it was
true. It was, as I said, bitterly cold.

"'Don't say that already, Laura,' said Mary anxiously, 'or I shall begin
to wish I had stood out against your coming with me.'

"'Oh, dear Mary, you couldn't have come alone,' I said.

"I was only fifteen. My accompanying Mary was purely for the sake of
being a companion to her, though in my own mind I thought it very
possible that, considering the nature of the 'business' we were bent
upon, I might prove to be of practical use too. I must tell you what th