'I SHOULD like to do it, Tom,' said the genial plump old gentleman; 'your return from India gives an excellent opportunity.'

'Humph!' rejoined the bronzed young soldier, who was lazily smoking in an easy lounge; 'you'll find it a tough job, I expect.'

'Perhaps so; but-ah-it would please me greatly to see a reconciliation between your aunts-the only living relatives I have except yourself. See?'

'I hear, sir, which is much the same, I suppose.'

'You were such a boy when you went away, you can hardly remember them, I should say.'

By

"O yes, I can, though. Jove, I should think so! Aunt Maria Pringle on her way to chapel with a big Bible, and aunt Jane en route for All Saints' with a large gold cross on her Prayerbook, and the two passing each other without a nod, was too impressive to be forgotten.'

'My dear boy,' expostulated the kindly old father, isn't it just a little-ah-uncharitable only to remember-ah-the sore point?'

They gave me nothing else to remember them by, sir,' replied the young man; but don't let me damp your ardour. I shall be only too glad to help on anything that pleases you.'

'That's kind of you, Tom; and as you've offered to help me, perhaps you wouldn't mind-ahleaving the little-ah-invitations for me, and adding a friendly word of your own?'

Tom acquiesced, and watched his father's shiny bald head red

dening with the warmth of his feelings as he indited the two notes which were to bid the belligerent sisters to the Christmas dinner; and as he watched this single-hearted old gentleman, he wondered how two such women as Mrs. Pringle and Mrs. Mace could be his sisters.

'There, Tom; no distance between the two houses, you see,' said Mr. Blossom, handing his son the notes.

Old cats' soliloquised the young man as he buttoned his greatcoat. They live near to have an opportunity of showing how they hate each other daily, I suppose.'

It is remarkable the influence a returned relative has when his sick-leave is the result of a slight wound, and his face is a handsome one. Tom Blossom got an acceptance out of the aunts before he left them, and his father's whole evening was spent in continually rubbing his hands to express satisfaction, and in adding suggestions as to good dishes for the Christmas dinner.

The seldom-used drawing-room was brilliant with fire and candle light. Mr. Blossom stood on the hearth-rug, ready with beaming smile and hearty greeting for the coming guests.

'Mr. and Mrs. Pringle,' announced old Mead, the butler.

Aunt Maria was very tall and angular, and her high cap made her more imposing-she quite eclipsed her husband, a nervous little sandy-haired fellow.

'A merry Christmas!' cried the beaming host.

The same to you, John,' replied Mrs. Pringle; and her husband wriggled about in the endeavour to show that he was as merry as anybody else.

'Mr. and Mrs. Mace.'

Aunt Jane was a bustling little woman, with a sharp voice, and spectacles worn over very sharp eyes. She promptly responded to her brother's and nephew's greeting, as did her husband, and then came a pause, during which little Mr. Pringle's hands got damp all over, and tall good-natured Mr. Mace twiddled with the bow of his necktie. Tom felt the awful moment had come.

Mr. Blossom coughed, and then with a bow possessed himself of one of Jane's and one of Maria's hands, and standing as a link between the two, he said,

a

" You have both done me great kindness. This season is so full of peaceful affectionate associations !'

'My dear brother, I know my duty,' solemnly murmured aunt Maria.

'I hope we both do!' sharply corrected aunt Jane.

'O, I know you do; you are both most excellent Christians; and all I ask of you is that you will shake each other's hands in friendliness before we sit down to our Christmas dinner.'

'I never wished it otherwise,' said aunt Maria, in a mournful tone, as she grudgingly offered her hand.

'Nor I, I'm sure,' added aunt Jane, and the cold hands met; and feeling relieved from the burden of a family feud, little Pringle rushed at Mr. Mace and shook and squeezed his fingers frantically.

Dinner's on the table, sir.'

Who needs describe a Christmas dinner? May every one who reads this enjoy such turkey, such

beef, such plum-pudding as Mr. Blossom's table boasted; and may every one, as he did, carefully avoid all the small and unnecessary fripperies which are sent to table in these days, and which, if eaten, entirely spoil the glorious harmony that follows indulgence in our time-honoured Christmas fare.

'Where did you attend service this morning, brother? inquired aunt Maria, with interest.

'0, just round the corner; quiet little church, you know.'

'Ah, you should have heard Mr. Gowny! Such passion, such fervour!

'Takes an hour, though, to show it in,' remarked Mr. Mace, stupidly good-humoured himself, and unaware that he was treading on anybody's toes.

'Hush, my dear Henry! expostulated his wife, putting her handkerchief to her mouth as if much distressed, and then apologetically continuing,

'Henry is spoilt, you know; our rector is so very clever, and says so much in only twenty minutes.'

'Superficial,' remarked aunt Maria, violently cutting away at the wing of a turkey on her plate. 'I hope, Tom, you have not forgotten Mr. Gowny; pray come there on Sunday-he appeals so to the feelings.'

'Nothing appeals to my feelings like brevity, aunt Maria,' rejoined Tom thoughtlessly.

Then we shall see you,' said aunt Jane briskly; and to lunch after church, I hope.'

'Champagne, ma'am? inquired Mead, wiser in his generation than his betters, and just saving Mrs. Pringle from going off.

'Don't be afraid of it, Maria; I know it's safe and sound,' cried the hospitable host; and Jane, my dear, your glass is empty! Look after her, Tom.'

'All right, father. Let me

keep this pudding alight, though;' and as the flames arose and made the sprig of holly crackle, he thought how much nicer it would have been if he and his father had been alone, for his aunts' faces reminded him of snapdragon.

How comfortable the husbands were! They really liked each other, and for one evening their Christian wives allowed them to show it. They had got as far back as the time when they played football together, when aunt

Maria made a move for the drawing-room, followed by aunt Jane. Having stood attention, with their table-napkins in their hands while the two elderly women filed out, they returned to hot punch and early reminiscences, which would have made them happy for hours, but a look of anxiety on the cheery face of their host checked them. Hark! Yes, a sound of female voices in angry discussion was unmistakably heard.

'You go,' said Mr. Pringle, nervously appealing to Mr. Mace.

'No, no, you go!' responded that gentleman, with a concerned face.

'I'll go!' announced Mr. Blossom, and his hand firmly undid the door, and the others followed him, old Mead bringing up the

rear.

'I was prepared for peace, but you have broken it !'

'By no means; it is your uncharitable spirit!'

'Sisters' cried Mr. Blossom, and his voice was full of dignified reproof, is this your religion?'

It is impossible that you can understand our position, brother,' said Mrs. Mace, her face crimson with mingled feelings; 'you have meant well, but really, Mr. Mace, you had better send for a cab.'

Mr. Mace was slowly moving to obey, when the host's voice again claimed attention.

'Hold! You may think I have made a mistake in asking you here, but I don't think I did; and having good-will towards you, I do not mean that we shall part without, at any rate, an effort on my part to promote your happiness.'

Aunt Maria leant back in her chair and looked sullenly at the fire; aunt Jane remained standing tapping her foot angrily on the hearth-rug. Mr. Pringle tied knots in his pocket-handkerchief, and wished he had half his worthy host's courage; and Mr. Mace leant against the door-post, looking helplessly from Tom (who regarded nothing but his boots) to old Mead, whose eyes rested ad· miringly on his master.

'Maria and Jane, whatever bitterness of feeling there is between you now, I remember, and you both remember, a time when you shared every grief and every joy, when your lives were full of a pure unselfish pleasure they have long ceased to know. What has wrought the change? Religion? Heaven forbid!' and the honest old face grew earnest and powerful in its look of appeal. It is the fighting under first one man's banner, then another, that has soured you; and you, in your party quarrels, have deserted the ranks where our mother enrolled us as children. By the memory of our childhood, and the day of rejoicing we now celebrate, I entreat you to return to the natural affection of our early years; and if you cannot agree in all things, remember that the true watchword of religion is -Love!'

'Hear, hear!' cried Mr. Mace enthusiastically.

"E can preach and practise too,' muttered the butler.

And the aunts? There was a long silence, and then-O goodly sight! Maria rose from her chair