Rafe. Not on Christmas Eve, Allison. They aren't, are they, Gillian? Midsummer Eve is the fairies' night.
Cicely. And fairies have no power on Christmas Eve, and witches can't charm you, nor cast their spells upon you——
Rafe. Because 'tis such a holy, holy night.
Gillian. Oh, but there be wonderful things that do befall on Christmas Eve, Master Rafe. My old grandam used to say that when the midnight bells ring, the cattle in the stables do kneel down to hail the holy day!
Cicely. Oh, Gillian, do they?
Rafe. Hast ever seen them, Gillian? Or hath thy grandam?
Allison. All the cows, and the sheep, and the little, little lambs?
Gillian. Nay, sweetheart, I never saw them, but I was wont to think, each Christmas Eve, that I would surely creep out to the stables and keep watch.
Rafe. And did you?
Gillian. Oh, Master Rafe, in truth 'twas a pretty plan,—but I was not a very brave little wench,—and it was so cold and dark and fearsome: when the time was come, I was always fain to put it off until the next year!