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.
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