Chapter 6 - Page 2

fresh out of the oven. He had printed the verses and
mottoes himself, spent all the afternoon over them, and been rather
proud of his efforts. Charlotte had said, "they were really beautiful;"
even Sophia had admitted that "they looked well among the greens." But
to-day he had not been asked to assist in the decorations. True, he had
said, in effect, that he did not wish to assist; but, all the same, he
felt shut out from his old pre-eminence; and he could not help
regarding Julius Sandal as a usurper.

These were drearisome Christmas thoughts and feelings; and they found
their climax in a pathetic complaint, "I never thought Charlotte would
have given me the go-by. All along she has taken my side, no matter what
came up. Oh, my little lass!"

As if in answer to the heart-cry, Charlotte opened the door. She was
dressed in furs and tweeds, and she had the squire's big coat and
woollen wraps in her hand. Before he could speak, she had reached his
chair, and put her arm across his shoulder, and said in her bright,
confidential way, "Come, father, let you and me have a bit of pleasure
by ourselves: there isn't much comfort in the house to-day."

"You say right, Charlotte; you do so, my dear. Where shall we go? Eh?
Where?"

"Wherever you like best. There is no snow to hamper us yet. Some of the
servants are down from Up-Hill. Ducie has sent mother a great spice-loaf
and a fine Christmas cheese."

"Ducie is a kind woman. I have known Ducie ever since I knew myself.
Could we climb the fell-breast, Charlotte? Eh? What?"

"I think we could. Ducie will miss it, if you don't go and wish her 'a
merry Christmas.' You never missed grandfather Latrigg. Old friends are
best, father."

"They are that. Is Steve at home?"

"He isn't coming home this Christmas. I wasn't planning about Steve,
father. Don't think such a thing as that of me."

"I don't, Charlotte. I don't think of Charlotte Sandal and of any thing
underhand at the same time. I'm a bit troubled and out of sorts this
morning, my dear."

She kissed him affectionately for answer. She not only divined what a
trial Julius had become, but she knew also that his heart was troubled
in far greater depths than Julius had any power to stir. Harry Sandal
was really at the root of every bitter moment. For Harry had not taken
the five hundred pounds with the creditable contrite humiliation of the
repenting prodigal. It was even yet doubtful whether he would respond to
his parents' urgent request to spend Christmas at Seat-Sandal. And when
there is one rankling wrong, which we do not like to speak of, it is so
natural to