and idealess as they used to be at Christmas. Glimmerings had dawned
on most, and one--Una M'Carthy--was fit to come forward to claim Mr.
Wilmot's promise of a Prayer-book. She could really read and say the
Catechism--her Irish wit and love of learning had outstripped all the
rest--and she was the pride of Ethel's heart, fit, now, to present
herself on equal terms with the Stoneborough set, as far as her sense
was concerned--though, alas! neither present nor exhortation had
succeeded in making her anything, in looks, but a picturesque
tatterdemalion, her sandy elf locks streaming over a pair of eyes, so
dancing and gracieuses, that it was impossible to scold her.

With beating heart, as if her own success in life depended for ever
on the way her flock acquitted themselves, Ethel stood by Mr. Wilmot,
trying to read answers coming out of the dull mouths of her children,
and looking exultingly at Richard whenever some good reply was made,
especially when Una answered an unexpected question. It was too
delightful to hear how well she remembered all the history up to the
flood, and how prettily it came out in her Irish accent! That made up
for all the atrocious stupidity of others, who, after being told every
time since they had begun who gave their names, now chose to forget.

In the midst, while the assembly were listening with admiration to the
reading of the scholar next in proficiency to Una, a boy who could read
words of five letters without spelling, there was a fresh squeezing at
the door, and, the crowd opening as well as it could, in came Flora and
Blanche, while Norman's head was seen for a moment in the doorway.

Flora's whisper to Ethel was her first discovery that the closeness and
the heat of the room was nearly overpowering. Her excitement had made
all be forgotten. "Could not a window be opened?"

Mrs. Green interfered--it had been nailed up because her husband had the
rheumatiz!

"Where's Aubrey?" asked Mary.

"With Norman. Norman said he would not let him go into the black-hole,
so he has got him out of doors. Ethel, we must come out! You don't know
what an atmosphere it is! Blanche, go out to Norman!"

"Flora, Flora! you don't consider," said Ethel, in an agony.

"Yes, yes. It is not at all cold. Let them have their presents out of
doors and eat their buns."

Richard and Mr. Wilmot agreed with Flora, and the party were turned out.
Ethel did own, when she was in the open air, "that it had been ra