while they were at lessons or play,
but never stopped to chat or romp with his little girl; and merely bent
his head in acknowledgment of the stiff little curtsey with which Una
always greeted him in obedience to Marie's directions.

On the afternoon of Christmas Day the children carried a small parcel
of home-made gifts and almond toffee to Una; then stayed with her to
sing some Christmas hymns and carols, and to tell her over again that
wonderful old story of the first Christmas morning so many years ago.

With eager face and hungry eyes Una drank in Norah's words, turning to
Tom every now and then for the explanation of some difficult word, or
to Dan for a description of that Eastern stable; and long after the
children had gone back to the merry home circle where "Peace" and
"Goodwill," welcome angels, hovered around, the little foreigner sat
gazing at the simple print, in its plain oak frame, of the Magi
worshipping the Infant Christ,--a gift from the vicar to his children's
friend.

January, February, March, April passed by, and one sunny morning in May
Una awoke with the feeling that something very wonderful had happened
the day before.

For a few moments she could not think what it was, as she lay listening
dreamily to the songs of the birds outside; then all at once she
remembered.

The day before she had been for a long walk with old Marie through the
wood. Neither of them had ever been so far before; but Una had coaxed
her old Nurse first up one winding path, then down another--begging her
to walk just as far as the bluebells they could see in the distance, or
to the tall fir-trees where they could listen to the wood-pigeons
cooing overhead, or "just a little further," on the chance of catching
a glimpse of the cuckoo they had heard calling all the afternoon--until
old Marie had sat down on the stump of a tree, fanning herself with a
handkerchief, and declaring that she could walk no more.

"Just a little further--only a little way more, Marie, _please_," Una
begged. "I only want to see if the white flowers over there are the
dog-daisies Tom told me about. Such a funny name, isn't it? Daisies
which belong to the dogs!" And the little girl laughed merrily.

"No more, no more, Miss Una," the old Frenchwoman said. "You may run
on by yourself for a little way, like a good child, if you keep within
call." And Marie closed her eyes drowsily--quite overcome with the
long walk and the warm afternoon--wh