Chapter 4 - Page 2

of wheat in a basket, and they scattered them here
and there in sheltered nooks.

"I'm so glad you remembered it, Phyllis. I shall never forgive myself
for not having thought of it before."

"It is only bare justice to our winged sisters. God made the berries
for their winter store, and we have taken them to adorn our houses
and churches. Unless we provide a good substitute there is an odor
of cruel sacrifice about our festal decorations. And if the poor little
robins and wrens die of hunger, do you think He, who sees them fall,
will hold us innocent?"

"Look how with bright black eyes they watch us scattering the food!
I hope it will not snow until all of them have had a good supper."

Elizabeth was unusually gay. She had had a delightful letter from
Richard, and he was to return to Hallam about the New-Year. There had
also been one from Antony, beginning "Honored Sir," and ending with
the "affectionate duty" of Antony Hallam; and, though the squire had
handed it over to Elizabeth without a word, she understood well the
brighter light in his face and the cheerful ring in his voice.

They went into Martha's laughing, and found her standing upon a table
hanging up Christmas boughs. The little tea-pot was in a bower of holly
leaves, and held a posy of the scarlet hawthorn berries mixed with
the white, waxy ones of the mistletoe.

"You wont forget the birds, Martha? You have been stealing from their
larder, I see."

"I'm none o' that sort, Miss Phyllis. Look 'ee there;" and she pointed
to the broad lintel of her window, which had been scattered over with
crumbs; where, busily picking them up, were two robin redbreasts, who
chirruped thankfully, and watched Martha with bright curious eyes.

"Mary Clough's coming to dinner to-morrow, and her and Ben are going
to t' chapel together. Ben's getten himsen a new suit o' broadcloth,
and my word! they'll be a handsome couple!"

"You'll have a happy Christmas, Martha."

"Nobody in a' England hes more reason to keep a joyful Christmas, Miss
Hallam."

"No two Christmases are exactly alike; are they, Martha? Last year
your daughter was with you. Now she is married and gone far away. Last
Christmas my brother was at home. He is not coming this year."

"I found that out long ago, Miss Hallam. First we missed father, then
mother; then it was a brother or a sister, or a child more or less;
then my husband went, and last year, Sarah Ann."

"Will you and Ben come to the hall to-night?"

"Why--mebbe we will."

"Ben has quite got over his trouble?"