Free Child Friday by Sara Seale Page B

.”
    “Is there?” he said, looking up in mild surprise. “How fierce you sound, Emily. To me one year is much like another, now.”
    “How do you know? Every year holds something new. Why, not so long ago you were poor as well as blind—you told me so yourself. One of those years at least brought you good fortune.”
    “True. Have you great expectations of the coming year, then, Emily?”
    She was silent, and he enquired with gentle mockery ; “Are you blushing again?”
    “Of course not!” It was only that I—that Alice—I’m sorry,” she finished. “I suppose I’m being idiotic.”
    “You can have your New Year, you and Alice, if it means so much to you,” he said a little wearily. “ But don’t expect me to fall into the traditional hysteria and sing Auld Lang Syne or anything, will you?”
    “But you’ll be there?”
    “Oh, yes, I’ll be there, and Shorty and Mrs. Pride, too, if you like. They’ll think I’m demented.”
    But when the time came and they all assembled in the library just before midnight, the two servants, if surprised, seemed almost human. Mrs. Pride had always thought it only proper to be invited to drink champagne with the gentry on New Year’s Eve, and Shorty, if, like Emily, he had been remembering with nostalgia past, more wroughty occasions in his native London, had shed his aggressive manner for the moment. Alice in her long bl u e dressing-gown clung to Emily’s hand and watched the' clock with expectant eyes and only Dane stood a little apart, his face curiously still, his eyes, because he could not see the Clock, turned towards the radio in the corner of the room. Their glasses were already in their hands, and as Big Ben struck the hour in the quiet room, they seemed frozen into immobility while the slow, deep notes hung on the air.
    Emily’s eyes were on Dane’s face, and as she watched him she was conscious of that familiar sense of trespass. Was it pain, regret, or merely a cynical tolerance that tightened the muscles about his mouth, she wondered. Did he remember other New Years when he had his sight and looked forward to success, achievement and, perhaps, love?
    Emily’s own eyes filled with tears. He was still a stranger but in that moment she felt she knew him; knew him and was powerless to help except to give him the little he might ask, and unbidden to her mind came the lines of one of the old folk songs she had taught to Alice.
    Black is the color of my true love’s hair . . .
    — But Tim’s had been red ...
    I love my love and well he knows
    I love the ground whereon he goes —
    The last note of the hour died away and with the sound of many voices singing the familiar air the little group came to life. Dane raised his glass and gave the traditional toast, they wished each other a happy New Year all round and Mrs. Pride, her glass almost untouched, prepared to take her leave and drink her champagne in the kitchen where etiquette could be relaxed.
    “I’ll be waiting to see you into bed, sir,” Shorty said, preparing to follow her, but Dane shook his head.
    “I’ll do without you tonight, Shorty,” he said. “In any case it’s an unnecessary, if kindly attention, as I’ve often told you. Now, Alice, off to bed and leave that glass behind you. One sip at this hour of night is quite sufficient at your age.”
    “I don’t think I like it very much,” said Alice. She winked at Shorty and handed him her champagne and he went out, grinning, a glass in each hand.
    “Shall I come up with you ,” asked Emily, watching the child with amusement .
    "No, thank you,” Alice said with polite unconcern, then she suddenly flung her arms rou n d Emily’s neck in a rare gesture of affection.
    “Good-night, dear Emily—it was a really truly New Year this time, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes,” said Emily softly. “May it bring you all your dearest wishes.”
    “Good-night, Uncle Dane, and thank you for letting me come down,” Alice said to her guardian, but