Christmas-Day, of course, all to church: and in the even sat down to supper seventy-six, all but ourselves poor men and women and childre. And two of the barons of beef, and six bowls of plum-porridge, and one hundred pies of divers kinds,—to say nought of lesser dishes, that Milly counted up to eighty. Then after, snap-dragon, whereat was much mirth; and singing of Christmas carols, and games with the childre. And all away looking mighty pleased.
Daft Madge would know of me if the angels lived o’ plum-porridge. I told her I thought not so.
“It is like to be somewhat rare good,” quoth she. “The Lord’s so rich, look you,—main richer nor Sir Aubrey. If t’ servant gives poor folk plum-porridge, what’ll t’ Master give?”
Father answered her, for he was close by—
“‘Fat things full of marrow, wines on the lees well refined.’”
“Eh, that sounds good!” saith she, a-licking of her lips. “And that’s for t’ hungry folk, Master?”
“It is only for hungry folk,” saith he. “’Tis not thrown away on the full ones. ‘Whosoever will, take,’ saith the Lord, who gives the feast.”
“Eh, then I shall get some!” saith she, a-laughing all o’er her face, as she doth when she is pleased at aught. “You’ll be sure and let me know when ’tis, Master? I’ll come, if ’tis snow up to t’ knees all t’ way.”
“The Lord will be sure and let thee know, Madge, when ’tis ready,” saith Father; for he hath oft said that little as poor Madge can conceive, he is assured she is one of God’s childre.
“Oh, if ’tis Him to let me know, ’t’ll be all right,” saith Madge, smiling and drawing of her cloak around her. “He’ll not forget Madge—not He. He come down o’ purpose to die for me, you know.”