'Friend or foe?' said a voice Bryda knew too well, and Mr Bayfield, his long riding-coat peppered with snow, which had touched his thick hair with a fringe of white, came in. 'Mr Palmer, I hope you will tell your hound I am a friend—eh, Miss Bryda?'
'Sit down, sir, sit ye down,' said the farmer. 'And, Doll there, take the gentleman's coat and shake it.'
'I came to wish you a merry Christmas,' the Squire said, 'a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. I have brought some trifles for the ladies, if they will honour me by accepting them.'
All this time Jack Henderson had not spoken. His honest heart was filled with jealous hatred of the visitor, who seemed to be unconscious of his presence and took no notice of him.
Apparently Flick and Jack had some sympathy with each other, for the dog retreated from the hearth and went to Jack's side, crouching at his feet, with his nose on his paws and his watchful eyes fixed on the guest, with no very amiable expression in them.
'Light the snap-dragon dish,' Mr Bayfield exclaimed, 'and let me have a dip for a raisin. It is many a long year since I burnt my fingers in such a quest. The old customs have a charm,' he added. 'Do you not say so, Miss Bryda?'
Betty now carried away the two tallow candles, which stood in large pewter candlesticks on the high mantel-shelf, and the spirit was set on fire by Jack Henderson.
Then the hands were dipped in and the usual amount of exclamations followed.
Jack, who had looked forward to this episode of the Christmas supper, supplied Bryda with more plums than she could eat. The ladies of the party, on these occasions, were supposed to give their spoil, snatched from the burning mass amidst much screaming and laughing, to the most favoured gentlemen of the company.
Bryda studiously avoided bestowing a single raisin on Mr Bayfield, and fed her grandfather with the hot morsels, and tossed one now and then to Jack Henderson.