"Very likely," agreed Mr. Jollyface. "Ha! ha! ha! so they have been puzzling you, my old friend, eh?"
"Well, children's riddles are very difficult to guess," said Father, "and yet they are always so simple."
"Chris," observed Ridgwell dejectedly, as they reached their room and turned the handle of the door, "they none of them understand; isn't it dreadful? and they are grown up, too, and really ought to know."
"We've waited and waited, Ridgie, and there's nothing else to be done; Lal won't come now, and he's never broken his word before, has he?"
"He might come, Chris; let's roll up the blind."
"No, the garden looks the same as it always does; there isn't a thing in sight. Suppose we don't go to sleep just yet and keep awake a bit; Lal might come and throw a stone at the window."
"Let's eat the chocolate," suggested Chris, who was occasionally practical, "while we wait."
Ridgwell untied the small parcel, a wooden box, about half the size of one of Father's cigar-boxes, and appeared to be made of the same kind of brown wood.
Disclosed to view at length, the birthday present was seen to be a fairly large chocolate lion lying upon a pedestal. The entire sweet-meat model was covered in thick golden paper; this was quickly stripped off, and Ridgwell did the honours as possessor.
"I'll eat his head half, Chris, and give you the other half; I think that's a fair division."
"Right," agreed Christine; "we can't eat more than that to-night, and the pedestal part will do for the morning."
"I can't understand Lal disappointing us to-night as he has done," said Ridgwell, as he slowly munched his chocolate. "Can you, Chris?"
"Yes, but fancy having to be contented with a chocolate lion when we know a real one! On my birthday too, and yet he promised faithfully we should see him again."
"He has forgotten us," confessed the children as they went to bed.
"Suppose he has too much to think of," said Ridgie; "he can't remember everything."
Christine never knew quite how long she had been asleep that night, before she distinctly heard muffled mutterings from her brother Ridgie's bed the other side of their little room. Surely Ridgie couldn't be saying his prayers at this time of night; then Christine was certain she heard half-smothered sobs.