ill. The boy was named in the telegram--his grandfather had asked

for him; so of course he has gone with his parents. Now,” continued Carlyon, looking at the blank faces before him, “I know that all of you will feel very much for Frank; but just at present we must think also of the poor folk in the school-room, who are waiting patiently for your appearance. What shall we do? Shall we give up the Travesty? Or will someone go on and read the part of the _King_?”

“Oh, don’t stop the play! Let’s act!” cried some.

“Max and Austin’s fencing-match is so funny!” cried others.

“Well, I think myself we ought to proceed, and do our best. The question is, who can read the _King_? It must be someone who knows something about the piece--”

“Frances!” exclaimed Max immediately. “Frances has been at all the rehearsals; and she has often read the _King’s_ part when she was hearing Austin and me say ours!”

Frances at first held back; but when she saw that she was really the best person to fill the breach, she made no more ado, but began to look about for a costume.

“If only Frank had thought of sending his,” said Max, regretful of the crimson velvet and ermine. “It would have done quite nicely for Frances. The tunic would have covered her frock.”

“We can hardly borrow it without leave, though. Well, I must let you settle the knotty point of costume for yourselves, youngsters, while I help my sister with the stage.”

Carlyon rushed off, nodding encouragingly to Frances, who had her eyes on the play-book and on every corner of the room in turn. Suddenly she darted over to a table covered by a crimson cloth.

“Hurrah!” she cried. “Here’s my tunic. A little ingenuity will soon drape it gracefully about my kingly person.”

Frances had seized the table-cover; and now, amid peals of laughter, she began, with Austin’s assistance, to pin herself into it. Max vanished from the room, returning in three minutes with two articles borrowed from friends among the Altruists’ relations in the audience.

“See, Frances! This fur-lined cape will make you a lovely cloak, and this fur tippet, put on back to front, will be your regal collar. About your neck and waist we will dispose the fairy prince’s gold chains, and he shall lend you his sword, likewise his cap.”

“Not his cap,” amended Austin, who was dancing a triumphant jig round his sister. “Frank left his crown here yesterday after rehearsal, and Frances can wear that.”

“And her sleeves will look all right. What a good thing your frock is of black velvet, Frances!”

By the time the young costumiers had finished they had turned out quite an effective _King_. Frances’s dark hair, waving to her shoulders, was pronounced “a first-rate wig” when the regal crown had been fitted on. The Carlyons declared the new _King_ to be admirably attired; and Frances, relieved of anxiety about her costume, entered fully into the fun.

“I’m a ‘king of shreds and patches’ like Shakespeare’s man,” she chuckled; “but so long as my various garments hold together, I don’t mind! Max, if I could get a few minutes to look through this long speech, I believe I could manage without the book. I’ve heard Frank say his part ever so often.”

“You’ve helped everybody, Frances,” said Max, remembering gratefully his own indebtedness, “and now you’re going to shine yourself. You’ll have time to read up your part before you go on.”

The spirit of true burlesque is rare among amateurs; but youngsters who act for the fun of the thing, and not merely to “show off”, are often capable of excellent comedy. Carlyon had chosen with care the boys and girls who were to perform in the Travesty, and had trained them sufficiently but not too much. Entering completely into the humour of parody, one and all acted with plenty of vigour and without a trace of self-consciousness. Max and Austin had arranged a serio-comic fencing-match, which was brought to a melodramatic finish by a clever rapier trick. Frances’s play with the poisoned cup sent Betty, the lackadaisical _Queen_, into a series of private giggles, which she was compelled to conceal by an unexpectedly rapid demise. At last the curtain rang down on Austin’s farewell speech.

The boys and girls who during the long evening had figured on the platform assembled in the green-room for a brief chatter over their experiences. They were in high spirits and honestly happy; for they felt that they had done their best, and that their best had given several bright and pleasant hours to folks whose lives were but dull and gray.

Buns, sandwiches, and lemonade provided the Altruists’ modest refreshment. They had thoroughly earned their supper, but they hurried through it in order to make an appearance at the feast-tables of their guests. There was neither time nor place for change of dress; so the actors in their motley garb now mingled with their audience, greatly to the latter’s delight. Sweets and bon-bons tasted twice as good when handed round by Teddy in pink satin, and Lilla in white; and a whole troop of little fairies dispensed almonds and raisins at a lavish rate. The movement of the guests to the supper-tables at the end of the room was the signal for the retirement of upper-class Woodend to the neighbourhood of the platform, whence it watched its young people justifying their motto, “Help Others”.

“Austin,” whispered Frances, “aren’t you sorry poor Jim isn’t here?”

“Jim?” questioned her brother. “Why, wouldn’t he have been a cut above these good folk?”

“Oh, yes, of course. He wouldn’t need anyone to give him supper or a woollen comforter, I suppose. But he could have seen the acting, and he would have helped us.”

“Really, Frances, you are ridiculous. You have such a fancy for Jim--as though we could have had a fellow like that tagging on to us all the evening.”

“I could have put up with him very well,” returned Frances calmly; “and he would have been very useful. Don’t _you_ be ridiculous, Austin.”

Austin muttered something about not wanting “loafing cads” in his vicinity; and was called so severely to task for his unmannerly epithet that he retired to grumble mildly in Max’s ear. But Max, too, liked Jim, and regretted the lad’s absence and the cause of it. He was sure that Frances was thinking pitifully of Jim’s lonely Christmas, and his sympathy was with Frances, not with her brother. Austin saw that his grumble must seek another sympathizer, and while looking for one, he noticed an old man’s empty plate, and flew to fulfil the duty of an Altruist host.

Supper was followed by a distribution of gifts. The presents numbered two for each person, and the ambition of the society had decreed that they should be strictly useful and of a kind to give some real comfort to the recipients. Thus, flannel shirts, knitted vests and socks, and cardigan jackets were handed to the men; while the women received warm skirts, bodices, and petticoats, “overall” aprons, and woollen shawls. Crimson was the hue of most of the clothing, and Max’s prophecy concerning the Altruist village seemed on the way to fulfilment. Thanks came heartily and in full measure from the delighted guests; and when their best spokesman had been put forward to offer the gratitude of the poor of Woodend to “the young ladies and gentlemen what had shown them a kindness they’d never forget”, good-byes became general, the village-folk trooped out, and the happy evening was really over.

* * * * *

Mrs. Morland went home alone in her carriage, promising to send it back for Frances and Austin, who were to take Max with them and set him down at his father’s gate. A wonderful amount of consideration from Woodend invalids had left Dr. Brenton free for a whole evening, and among the Altruist audience not one had been happier than he. Now he went off with his borrowed bath-chair and its weakly occupant, meaning not only to see poor Mrs. Baker safely indoors, but to satisfy himself that her husband, who had stayed sulking at home, was propitiated by the present of warm shirts and socks which Frances had chosen as the likeliest pacifiers.

The boys were still in their fancy dress, and obliged to wait in the school-room for Mrs. Morland’s carriage; but Frances, in her cosy frock and jacket, could defy the snow without, and she accompanied some of her friends to the gate and saw them off. As the last carriage full of boys and girls rolled smoothly away, she still stood thoughtfully by the roadside. Frances was thoroughly content; her heart seemed full of peace and good-will to all the world, and lifting her face to the moonlit sky, she searched half-consciously for those old friends Orion and the Plough, while her happy young face smiled in memory of all the joys that evening had brought for her.

“She does look kind!” mused a lad hidden in the shadow of some bushes opposite. “Kind and gentle and good! It was worth while to tramp from Rowdon to see Miss Frances’s face to-night. She has been making folks happy, as her way is, God bless her! I was afraid before I came,--but now I’m glad. Miss Frances will be kind, I know she will. The boy’s different, and I doubt he’ll be against me; but what shall I care, if Missy is kind?”

Jim East lifted his head, and stood erect and brave.

“Nay, what should I care, with all the world against me, so long as Missy was kind?”