She had no further opportunity of speaking that night; and supper would have been a silent meal but for what happened as they all sat at table. All, that night, did not include John William, who was evidently spending Christmas Eve in Melbourne. There was some little talk about him. David remarked that a mail would be in with the Christmas letters, and Missy was asked whether she had not told John William to call at the post office. She had not. During her sojourn at the farm she had only once been to the post office herself; had never sent; and had been told repeatedly she was not half anxious enough about her Home letters. They told her so now. Missy generally said it was because she was so happy and at-home with them; but tonight she made no reply; and this was where they were when there came that knock at the window which made Missy spill her cocoa and otherwise display a strange state of mind.
"Who is it?" she cried. "Who do you think it is?"
"Maybe some neighbour," said Mrs. T., "to wish us the compliments o' t' season."
"If not old Father Christmas himself!" laughed David to Missy, in the wish that she should forgive herself, as he had forgiven her, for tearing up his letter. But Missy could only stare at the window-blind, behind which the knock had been repeated, and she was trembling very visibly indeed. Then the front-door opened, and it was Missy, not one of the family, that rushed out into the passage to see who it was. The family heard her shouting for joy:
"It's John William. It's only John William after all. Oh, you dear, dear old Jack!"
Very quickly she was back in the room, and down on the horsehair sofa, breathing heavily. John William followed in his town clothes.
"Yes, of course it's me. Good evening, all. Who did you think it was, Missy?"
"I thought it was visitors. What if it had been? Oh, I hate visitors, that's all."
"Then I'm sorry to hear it," remarked Mrs. Teesdale sourly, "for we have visitors coming to-morrow."
"I hate 'em, too," said John William wilfully.
"Then I'll thank you to keep your hates to yourselves," cried Mrs. T. "It's very rude of you both. Your mother wouldn't have spoke so, Missy!"
"Wouldn't she!" laughed the girl. "I wonder if you know much about my mother? But after that I think I'll be off to bed. I _am_ rude, I know I am, but I never pretended to be anything else."