"Thank you, Ida, the same to you; you have got most of your
Christmases before you, which is more than I have. God bless me, it
only seems like yesterday since the big bunch of holly tied to the
hook in the ceiling there fell down on the breakfast table and smashed
all the cups, and yet it is more than sixty years ago. Dear me! how
angry my poor mother was. She never could bear the crockery to be
broken--it was a little failing of your grandmother's," and he laughed
more heartily than Ida had heard him do for some weeks.
She made no answer but busied herself about the tea. Presently,
glancing up she saw her father's face change. The worn expression came
back upon it and he lost his buoyant bearing. Evidently a new thought
had struck him, and she was in no great doubt as to what it was.
"We had better get on with breakfast," he said. "You know that Cossey
is coming up at ten o'clock."
"Ten o'clock?" she said faintly.
"Yes. I told him ten so that we could go to church afterwards if we
wished to. Of course, Ida, I am still in the dark as to what you have
made up your mind to do, but whatever it is I thought that he had
better once and for all hear your final decision from your own lips.
If, however, you feel yourself at liberty to tell it to me as your
father, I shall be glad to hear it.
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