At last they turned down a back street towards a door that stood open to the dark, foggy night.  Inside the room was a bare table at which sat a little girl, her blue, anxious eyes fixed on the open door.

“I hope he gets here before Dad,” she said.  “I wouldn’t like Dad to come and find it not ready!”

The woman on the bed closed her eyes wearily.

“I don’t think he’ll come now, dearie.  We must just get on without it.”

The little girl sprang up, her pale cheek suddenly flushed.

“Oh, listen!” she cried; “something’s coming!”

They listened in breathless silence, while the sound of wheels came down the street towards the empty door.  Then—­an old hand-cart appeared in the doorway and behind it William in his strange attire, and Joan in her fairy-like white—­white cloak, white dress, white socks and shoes—­her bright curls clustered with gleaming fog jewels.

The little girl clasped her hands.  Her face broke into a rapt smile.  Her blue eyes were like stars.

[Illustration:  FIRST THE JELLIES AND BLANC MANGES—­THEN THE MEAT PIES AND TRIFLES.]

“Oh, oh!” she cried.  “It’s Father Christmas and a fairy!”

Without a word William pushed the cart through the doorway into the room and began to remove its contents and place them on the table.  First the jellies and trifles and blanc-manges, then the meat pies, pastries, sausage rolls, sandwiches, biscuits, and cakes—­sugar-coated, cream-interlayered, full of plums and nuts and fruit.  William’s mother had had wide experience and knew well what food most appealed to small boys and girls.  Moreover she had provided plentifully for her twenty guests.

The little girl was past speech.  The woman looked at them in dumb wonder.  Then: 

“Why, you’re the boy she was talkin’ to,” she said at last.  “It’s real kind of you.  She was gettin’ that upset.  It ’ud have broke her heart if nothin’ had come an’ I couldn’t do nothin’.  It’s real kind of yer, sir!” Her eyes were misty.

Joan placed the last cake on the table, and William, who was rather warm after his exertions, removed his scarf.

The child gave a little sobbing laugh.

“Oh, isn’t it lovely?  I’m so happy!  You’re the funny boy, aren’t you, dressed up as Father Christmas?  Or did Father Christmas send you?  Or were you Father Christmas all the time?  May I kiss the fairy?  Would she mind?  She’s so beautiful!”

Joan came forward and kissed her shyly, and the woman on the bed smiled unsteadily.

“It’s real kind of you both,” she murmured again.

Then the door opened, and the lord and master of the house entered after his six months’ absence.  He came in no sheepish hang-dog fashion.  He entered cheerily and boisterously as any parent might on returning from a hard-earned holiday.

“’Ello, Missus!  ’Ello, Kid!  ’Ello!  Wot’s all this ’ere?” His eyes fell upon William. “’Ello young gent!”