of mankind, with his head on one side, and thinking probably what fools they must be, to be carrying on their unmeaning games, instead of sleeping and letting him sleep. Dick had three or four shots with his cap at the birds, before Mabel, backed by Willie, to whom she appealed, could make him leave them alone. Then they took to forfeits again; and Dick, who was absolute lord of misrule in the place, soon made it too uproarious. Whenever it came to his turn to declare a forfeit (and he constantly managed that it should do so, by making horrible faces, and otherwise interrupting the one whose turn it was to repeat), he played some half-malicious prank. At last, having caught up the dairy-maid, he declared her forfeit "clenching hands." This operation is performed by the caller and payer of the forfeit standing up, and joining their hands with the fingers laced, when the gentleman, by extending his arms, brings the lady's face close up to his own, and kisses her. In the present case, the dairymaid, being full as strong as Master Dick, kept him nearly at arms' length; but the attempt annoyed Mabel, who put a stop to the game. Whereupon Dick took himself off till supper-time, declaring them slow. They were getting rather tired, and the embers of the faggot were all redhot and nearly consumed; so they made a circle round, and the maids brought some logs and put them on. "Now, Aunt Nelly, you must sing us a song." "Oh yes, the one about the sisters, and the cherry without a stone, please,” said Bobby. "Very well. Mabel, you will take the questions. And, mind, you must all sing the chorus.” "I had four sisters lived over the sea, Parra marra dictum domine; They each sent a Christmas present to me, Partum quartum paradise templum, Parra marra dictum domine. The first sent a cherry without a stone, Parra marra dictum domine; The second sent a bird without a bone, Partum quartum paradise templum, &c. The third sent a blanket without a thread, The fourth sent a book no man could read, Partum quartum paradise templum, &c. How could it be a cherry without a stone? Parra marra dictum domine; How could it be a bird without a bone? How could it be a book no man could read? Parra marra dictum domine; When the book's in the press no man can read, Partun quartum paradise templum, The song and chorus delighted the children; and then Mabel was called on for her story, which would, no doubt, fascinate readers as much as it did her audience round the remains of the ashen faggot, were there space to give it. And now it was getting near eight o'clock, the chimes were ringing out, and it was time to prepare the kitchen for the supper of the grown-up folk. Nelly and her charge withdrew through the house, and the other children dispersed. Mabel remained to give an eye to the supper-arrangements. Presently Bobby and Maggie, who had not yet been carried off, ran up and pulled her gown. "Oh, Mabel, come and look, do come and look!" "What is it, Bobby?" "Oh, two great hairy faces, like the giants in our picture-book." "Where? Bobby?" What do you mean, "Here, at the window. They frightened Maggie so." "Oh yes, that they did," said Maggie, holding on to her sister's gown. "You ain't afraid, Mabel?" "No, dear; come along." So she went to the window, which looked out on the garden, and which she had opened a few minutes before to freshen the room. "Why, Bobby, you must have fancied "No, no; didn't we see two great hairy faces, such big ones, looking in?" Oh, yes, Mabel." 66 Mabel looked out carefully amongst the shrubs. The moon and snow made it almost as light as day, except just in the shadow of the house; but she could see nothing. "Well, Bobby, you see they've run away. They couldn't get through these bars at any rate; so we're quite safe. Hark! there are the school-children, singing a carol at papa's window. Come along; you can go and hear them, and say good-night to papa." And so Mabel and the children left the kitchen. * "Nearly caught, eh, Johnny?" whispered the elder of our travellers, as the two drew themselves up in the shadow of the house, behind a laurel. "Who was the pretty little bright-eyed girl?" "My little sister, Maggie." "And the boy?" "My youngest brother, Bob." "You're a lucky dog. Hark! what's that?" "The school-children, singing a carol before the house." They listened while the sang the grand old carol young voices "Now, papa. They have done supper, and Dick and I have put the Ashen Faggot on, and it's just blazing up. You'll come in and wish them a merry Christmas, won't you?" Mr. Kendrick rose from his chair in his wife and Mabel, and prepared to go with Willie. "But the vicar isn't come," he said; "he would like to go in with me and say a few words to them." 'Oh, John, I'll wait for the vicar and Nelly, and bring them in for a few minutes when they come." So Mr. Kendrick and Mabel went with Willie back to the kitchen, where the Ashen Faggot was already crackling and roaring away merrily on the dogs. The women, who had supped with their husbands and brothers, were seated in the chimney-corner, and round one side of the fire on benches, leaving the space clear between the fire and the long table. At the upper end of the table, the bailiff, the carpenter, the parish-clerk, and the wheelwright were seated, and the farm-labourers, men and boys, below. Mabel joined the women, while her father took the top of the table; the men all rising till he had taken his seat, with Willie by his side. Dick was seated at his ease next to the bailiff, on the opposite side from Moses, the carpenter. There were several large copper jugs on the table, out of one of which Mr. Kendrick filled a horn of beer. "Here's a merry Christmas to you all," he said, drinking, "and I hope you've enjoyed yourselves to-night?" "Ees, ees, that us hev'," chorused the men, and, at a sign from the bailiff, Moses, the carpenter, cleared his throat and sang "Here a health unto our maester, I haups to God wi' aal my heart, CHORUS. Then drenk, bwoys, drenk, "Your health, zur, and missus's and ael th' fam'ly, and a merry Christmas to ee ael, and many ov' em!" followed this poetical greeting, which was sung voci old harvest-home song, well known for generations to all the inhabitants of Avenly." "Now you can light your pipes, and make the most of your time; the Ashen Faggot waits for nobody." The lighting up of pipes soon followed this permission; and Mr. Kendrick, after chatting for a minute or two to the men nearest him, was just getting up to speak, when the lowest of the hazel bonds of the Ashen Faggot burst. "A bond, a bond; drenk to th' bond," said several voices. The bailiff looked at his master, who seated himself at once. "No, no, I can wait," he said; "keep to your custom. A sip and a song for every bond." This saying was received with enthusiasm, and a call on Muster Hockle followed. The carpenter seemed the favourite performer. "Gie's th' howl's disaster, Maester Hockle," suggested the bailiff. I've often heard my gram 'mer tell Of a peart young owl, as ael the day But, zo zoon as ever the zun were zet, As aal o' you shall presently zee. A vlod vor miles auver hill and dale, Do know as the weakest must allus yield. Thaay dreshed un and tar ael the dowl vrom his yead, And thaay vollured un whoam unto the barn dwoor, MORAL. Now, ael you young men as loves ramblin o' night, Be plazed from this story to take timely warnin', Vor ther' med be them as ud not thenk it right If you chances to get auvertuk by the marnin'. Any one who had thought of looking at the garden window during Moses's song would have been able to confirm the story of little Maggie on all points, except as to the size of the two faces which peered through the window-bars. They might easily have fancied that the fleshy embodiments of some two antagonist Christmas principles were watching the Ashen Faggot supper from without; so marked was the contrast between the merry curious look of the lighter, and the painful tension of muscles and hungering anxiety of the darker face. "Lawk! do'ee look, Miss Mabel. Zhure as vate I zeed zummat at th' winder," whispered Goody Ockle, the carpenter's wife, to Miss Kendrick. Mabel glanced at the window a little nervously, and thought she detected figures disappearing; but her father had now risen to speak to his men, and she turned to listen. "You all know," he said, with his homely Wiltshire manner, which gave him such a hold over the people who lived round him, "you know well, after all these years we have lived side by side as good neighbours, how much I enjoy meeting you here at such times as this. For five-and-twenty years now we have met here, and had our merry makings, our harvest-homes, and Ashen Faggot nights, through bad times and good times. Well, we've had good times lately in field and fold, and I hope we're all thankful for them, and laying by something against hard times, which will be sure to come back again, sooner or later-remember that. When they come, I hope we shall all pull together, as we have done before; but there's nothing like being a little before the world. The only one of all those haven't seen burnt with you, was the last one. You all know why I wasn't with you. It had pleased God to send me a very fearful trial last year, and I hadn't the heart to come among you as usual. I know how pleased you will all be, to hear that I have had good news to-day from the other side of the world; good news of Master John." Here his voice faltered, and, when the rough murmurs of sympathy had subsided a little, he changed the subject abruptly, and went on. "It has always been a source of great pride to me and to good vicar, whom we all love as an old friend, though he has only been with us four years or so" (the vicar, who had just entered, with Mrs. Kendrick on his arm, followed by his daughter, was hailed by a burst of applause, and stood benevolently wondering through his spectacles what it could be all about), 66 our Merry You we are very proud to think how little drunkenness we have in this parish. I'm sure you'll all take a pride, and you particularly, boys," (the boys at the end of the table become specially attentive) "in keeping up our good name. and wise,' is our Avenly motto. will be sure to go right if you will only mind your mothers and wives, whom I am always delighted to welcome here with you, and who, mind, ought always to be with you at such times. Mind, boys, and men too, there's no honest mirth where wives and daughters can't come. There's one more word, which, perhaps, would come better from the vicar than from me; but, as he'll have his turn tomorrow in the pulpit, I may just touch upon his ground now. This Ashen Faggot' night, you know, is the night of peace and goodwill of all the year. So, So, if any of you have had fallings out with your neighbours, or in your families, now's the time to set them all right. Don't let the last bond of the faggot burst before we have made all our hearts clean and whole with all men this Christmas Eve. I see there's another bond just going to burst; so I shall only wish you all again a very merry Christmas." The bond burst almost before Mr. the room noticed it. Every eye was turned to the opposite side of the room. Her father's look as he spoke, and some of his words, had touched Mabel very deeply. She could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. The warmth of the great faggot and the smell of the smoke gave her a choking feeling, which she found it every moment more difficult to struggle against. So she had glided across to the opposite door, and, opening it a little, stood by it listening. Just as Mr. Kendrick finished, she stepped out for a breath of fresh air, to look at the pure moonlight, and recover herself, when she heard her name whispered close by. She turned with a start, and the next moment found herself in the arms of a man. Altogether, the excitement of the day and the evening, with this last shock at the end of all, proved too much for her, and she fairly fainted away. "Good God, Herbert! what am I to do? Here's Mabel fainting!" "Why the deuce did you frighten her then? Come, bring her in," and, so saying, Herbert pushed the door open. The astonishment of the company vented itself first in a sort of gasp; Mr. Kendrick turned sharply round, following the universal stare, and beheld one bearded stranger in front, standing on his kitchen floor, with a big stick in his hand, and his daughter in the arms of another just behind him. He sprang to his feet, as did all the other men, but not before Mrs. Kendrick had rushed across the kitchen, crying Mabel, dearest, what is it? What have you done to my child?" "Mother, dear mother, don't you know me?" "Johnny! Oh God, is it Johnny?" and now the mother was on his neck, sobbing hysterically; and the whole of the women thronged round them, and murmurs of "Master John !" ""Tis the young squire, zhure enough!" "Massy, how a be grawed," and such like, passed round the men. "Hadn't you better stand back, and give the young lady room to come Mr. Kendrick now pressed forward with blanched face through the crowd. The son could only stretch out his hand, with, "Dear father, you have forgiven me?" John Kendrick, the elder, seized and grasped it twice, but could not speak. He was not the man to give way in public, but his bowels yearned to his son, and he fled away to his chamber to weep there. Herbert was looking on, much moved, weighing within himself whether he could be of any use, when his eye caught sight of the vicar, making horrible gulping faces, and wiping his spectacles. He looked anxiously at him for a moment, and then, springing across, seized his hand and began shaking it furiously. "Why, Mr. Ward, Mr. Ward, don't you know me?” "Eh, oh! what! no! Who are you?" replied the vicar, shaking away, however, with great goodwill, and glad to find an outlet for his feelings. "Why, Herbert Upton of course. Who should I be?" "What, Herbert! God bless me ! No, it can't be. Yes, I see. My dear boy, what brings you here? Where have you been? Why haven't you written?" "So I have, often, some years back." "What, written? I've never had the letters." "And Nelly?" "Oh, here she is, somewhere. Nelly, where are you? We often talk of you and old times." And now there was like to be another catastrophe calling for salts and cold water, as Herbert and Nelly met again after six years' parting. He had left her a slip of a girl, and found her a fine young woman. She had last seen him a stripling of twenty, and he stood. there now a great-bearded man. Readers must picture to themselves the rest of the scene-how the troubled groups divided themselves again; how the Ashen Faggot revelry went on in the kitchen, every bond that had burst during the interruption receiving due posthumous honours; how the reputation of Avenly for strict sobriety was somewhat shaken that night, though nothing was said about it by squire or vicar; how, at the supper in the parlour, to which no one but Herbert and Dick did any justice, the story of Herbert's meeting with Johnny halfstarved in the streets of Sydney, and taking him into his employment, of their defence of their waggon and beasts against bushrangers, of the lucky accident which enabled Herbert to come home, was told by fits and starts in answer to a thousand questions. It was almost midnight before they broke up, and then Mr. Kendrick asked the vicar to read to them, and took down his big Bible. And the old vicar, peering through his spectacles, turned to the 15th chapter of St. Luke, and read it; and, as the well-known words were heard again, there was no dry eye in the parlour, except the incorrigible Dick's. Herbert Upton escorted the vicar and Nelly home; and on the next Sunday the banns of Herbert Upton, of New South Wales, and Eleanor Ward, of Avenly, were duly published for the first time in the parish church. Herbert established himself for the winter at the vicarage, with three good hunters, which stood in Mr. Kendrick's capacious stables. The worthy villagers of Avenly will long remember and talk over the Ashen Faggot night when the young squire came home again. |