"Aunt Kezia says she hopes to be home in a few days, and that she trusts we are all behaving ourselves, and she hopes I'm looking after Sarah, and seeing that she uses up all the crusts and bits of bread for bread-puddings and bread-crumbs, and that she doesn't go up into Aunt Kezia's bedroom to look out of the window at her young man—"
"By Jove, I never knew Aunt Kezia had a young man!"
"And she hopes—"
"And she might let poor Sarah just look at him—he must be a curiosity. Fancy Aunt Kezia being so jealous!"
Nell put down her letter.
"She gives a great deal of advice, and is very anxious, but since Denis is so frivolous I won't tell you any more."
"I've got a letter from Tommy, and he sends his love to my snowy-breasted Pearl," observed the Atom, "and he thinks they're comin' home in about a week."
"Oh, missansir," exclaimed Sarah, coming in to clear away the breakfast things, "let me shut the winders! You'll catch your deaths of colds!"
"Oh, it's a lovely morning," said Nell, leaning out.
"When I die, plant a shamrock o'er my corpse, Sarah," begged Denis.
Sarah sighed heavily.
"It's a great responsibility me having to look after you all!"
Nell put her head down on the window-sill and laughed.
"Sheila Pat," said Molly, "what are you doing?"
The Atom was standing, with absorbed countenance, one foot extended, balancing a pin-cushion. On her head was the slop basin.
"Don't—speak—to me!"
The whisper was earnest and intense, but at that moment Kate Kearney crept up, picked off the pin-cushion, and frisked away with it. The slop basin fell with a crash.
"Oh, we shall catch it," said Nell, eying the pieces.
"I was tryin' to do the balancin' clown."
On the previous Saturday Ted had appeared very casually with a box at a circus going begging.
"Pity to waste it," he had observed uncomfortably.
He had not explained that he had booked for that box three weeks before, and had never summoned up courage to mention it till the very day itself.
They had enjoyed every moment of that circus; and Sheila Pat had striven to do many things since that she had witnessed that day.
"Next time," advised Denis, from the hall, "you practise the clown, do it with sofa-cushions, Atom. It will come more economical in the end."
That evening Herr Schmidt went into his bedroom, and found a small burglar walking off with the two tall candles from his toilet table.
"Good evenin'," the burglar said calmly. "I'm glad you've come in, because now I can ask if you've any injection to lendin' us your candles, Herr Schmidt."
"Not at all, my dear; it is a bleasure."
He followed her into the hall. Suddenly she turned, looking gnomish.
"I invite you to join our little party, Herr Schmidt!" she said with a good deal of effect.
"A barty? But I am old—"
"Please come! I do so want you to come!"
He smiled delightedly.
"You are a nice little girl! Ach, yes, I will come if ze rest wish it also."
"Oh, yes, they will! You see, it's to jump over candles!"
"To joomp? Candles?"
She nodded.
"Nell," entering the dining room, which was cleared for action, "isn't it lovely—Herr Schmidt's goin' to jump them, too!" Her wicked little voice trembled with glee.
"Oh!" said Nell, "oh, it's very good of him!"
Herr Schmidt looked on with benign interest as they arranged twelve candles, big, little, thin, fat, in a row on the floor, some in candlesticks and a few stuck on pieces of wood. He listened earnestly to Nell's explanation.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Every candle represents a month. Yes. I joomp—so!" He gave an elephantine leap in the air that sent Molly flying from the room. "And if I blow out any, I shall be onhappy zat month—ach, yes!"
"And all you jump over without blowing out will be happy and prosperous months."
"So! I understant. Shall I begin?"
He did begin. He stood before the first candle drew his feet together, and—thud!—he was over and beaming round, breathless but triumphant.
"Ach—he not out!"
He smiled seraphically upon his rude, convulsed audience, which was strewn around helplessly on chairs and sofa.
Then he prepared to manipulate the second candle. With a thud that shook the whole house, he cleared it triumphantly.
"January, February! Ach, it is so easy!"
"You're a fairy, Herr Schmidt!" declared Denis. "I believe you've got gossamer wings hidden in your toes!"
"You're a bit muddled, O.B., aren't you?" observed Ted.
But the hackneyed and stale old saying that pride goes before a fall held good now. Herr Schmidt, overconfident, leapt buoyantly at his third candle and came down with a horrible squelch straight on it.
"Ach, I've put—him out!" he ejaculated dismally.
"No, have you?" said Ted.
"Yes, I haf," he responded in all good faith, eying the flattened mass of wax. "It is March; I shall be unlucky."
Then warily he started once more. He surmounted successfully April, May, June, and July. By that time his beaming smiles had given place to a deep and solemn earnestness infinitely more ludicrous. His face was very red, and his breath was very short. But on he went; came to grief over August; on again, over September, October, successfully, put November out, and leapt December with a bang that Denis declared made his teeth rattle in his head.
"Zere!" He looked round on his audience much as a conqueror might have looked on the worlds he had conquered—with pride tempered by sadness for losses. "I shall be unlucky in March and August and November, but I joomp zem well, eh? Zo many not out, hein?"
"Oh, beautifully," said Nell, wiping her eyes, "only three out!"
They replaced flattened March, then Sheila Pat went earnestly at the candles; bright and airy as a sprite, she skipped over them without putting out one. Molly was not so lucky. Her skirts were longer than the Atom's, her giggles more helpless. Her jumps were wild, hopelessly crooked. She put out February and March, then stood on one leg, her skirts all bunched up in front, shaking with laughter.
"Don't look at me! Oh, mayn't I begin again? Denis—don't make me laugh!"
She gathered her skirts together—thud, thud, thud, thud! In a wild rush April, May, June, July, were jumped triumphantly.
"O dear!" She stopped again, breathless with giggles and frantic little squeals at each candle. Denis was shouting aloud at her desperate hops.
"You're like a one-legged frog, Mol! Go on! You mustn't stop!"
"I'll never do the rest! Oh!" She stumbled—kicked August over, trod on September, and fell headlong on October, November, and December. A horrible smell of burning arose. Herr Schmidt, with a torrent of guttural exclamations, rushed to her assistance. Ted also helped her to rise. The others simply collapsed and laughed.
Two burnt holes in her skirt, and grease—grease—grease—were the extent of the damages. Molly lay on the lounge and groaned out:—
"Oh, I ache! Stop me laughing!"
They cut a long candle in two and procured two fresh ones; then Nell went forward, light as Sheila Pat but not able to control her laughter so well, and jumped all successfully except February.
A friend called to see Herr Schmidt and he went regretfully away. Denis skipped airily over the whole twelve candles, without a pause, and without putting out one.
"Come on, Ted! It's as easy as sleeping with your eyes shut!"
"Wait a moment—I've an idea!" exclaimed Nell.
"No!"
"It's not fair for you boys. How do you think I put out February? Why, with the whiff of my skirt! You shall wear skirts!"
They draped them artistically with rugs and shawls, pinning them up till Ted declared ruefully that he moved in terror of his life.
"Come on!" shouted Denis. "What's a rug when you've got a good pair of legs! Houp la!"
And he was staggering and stumbling helplessly, with January and February both out.
"Where are your good pair of legs now?"
"I can do better than that. It requires a calm dignity and caution," observed Ted. "You were too rash, O.B., too Oirish altogether."
He dragged his rugs and shawls together.
"You've lit them again? Thanks. Now!"
He jumped slowly, heavily, without any spring, cleared January successfully, and put out February with a fliff of his draperies.
"Hang it all! That's not fair. Why, it's out before I've jumped the thing!"
"Of course!" cried Nell, gleefully. "You're too English altogether, Ted! You should be more careful with your skirt!"
"Um." He eyed the candle reflectively, then cautiously stepped round it.
"I'm not going to jump it for nothing," he declared; "it's out and it can't be outer. Now for March."
He rolled his draperies into a ball in front, jumped blindly, the ball projecting too far for him to be able to see the candle, and peered round complacently.
"He's all right!"
But a storm of expostulations arose.
"You jumped right on one side!"
"You didn't jump over it at all!"
"You must do it again!"
He sighed.
"I do call that jolly hard!"
He looked appealingly at Nell, but got no sympathy.
At that moment Denis gave a war-whoop behind him.
"Go on! Let's rush 'em! I'm coming! Hurry up!"
"Oh, I say!" He clutched wildly at his draperies, heard Denis clear the candle behind him, and leapt forward desperately, his rugs held up anyhow.
Over March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November they careered without a pause to view what success they had achieved, stumbling, kicking, making the most awful noise; then Ted did not take December quickly enough—Denis, unable to stop himself, with a yell collided into him, and over they went, squashing December as flat as the proverbial pancake. They lay, kicking, struggling, all muddled up.
"Give us a hand!" shouted Denis. "Here, you idiot, you're hanging on to my rug!"
"I'm not! A pin's digging into my calf!"
"I tell you, you have got hold of my rug!"
"I haven't! It's my shawl you're pulling at."
"Nell, I'll disown you as my twin forever if you don't come and separate this fool from me!"
Ted groaned dismally. "There's another pin—in my shoulder!"
"Pooh, I've got 'em digging into me everywhere! I'm the latest thing in pin-cushions! Nell O'Brien, when at the post mortem the verdict is 'Death due to an overdose of pins,' you'll repent, perhaps—"
"O.B., will you let that bit of shawl go? Or tear off the corner you've taken such a fancy to!"
"Oh, no, it's Aunt Kezia's," squealed Molly, "oh—do be careful!"
"Oh, Lor'," gasped Denis, in exhausted tones, "I'm done! And with my last breath I maintain 'tis my shawl."
"There, now, I've let everything go. Twirl me—twist me—do what you will with me," said Ted. "Get up, O.B.! I say, ware shins, old man!"
They stumbled to their feet and stood and surveyed the row of dilapidated candles—bent double, lying full length on the ground, squashed flat, and one only still alight.
"Ted, shake hands. In face of the sad and gloomy year I see before us, I can harbour no ill feeling towards you; though 'twas my shawl, yet let us be as brothers in misfortune."
"January, February, March, April, May, June, July—July is to be our one and only joyful month, O.B.!"
"And now," pursued Denis, "let us bow to the ladies of the company. Our awe and admiration—always intense—have increased by five hundred yards, four inches, during the last half hour of sad experience. Amn't I right, sweet brother?"
Ted bowed; then his eyes twinkled as he fixed them on the Atom's long legs.
"My awe and admiration for Sheila Pat remain as they were," he announced firmly.
The Atom sat down suddenly on the floor.
"Oh, the mess!" sighed Nell, "the awful mess!"
"Who is it who speaks?" inquired Denis, in tragic tones. "I have no twin. In my direst need she deserted me—her one and only twin—her Irish boy—her brown-haired brother—oh, by Jove!" with a sudden shout of laughter, "suppose Aunt Kezia were to walk in now!"