"Seeing ghosts, dragons and goblins all night long," said Hughes, the second footman, shoving a big chair into position. Chairs from all parts of the house had been brought to the drawing-room and arranged in a semi-circle in front of the huge fireplace, at one corner of which stood Mr. Bingle's reading lamp, accurately placed at the edge of a costly little Italian table. There were big chairs and little chairs, soft chairs and hard ones, chairs of velvet and chairs of silk, chairs of ancient needle-point and chairs that could not be sat upon.
"I didn't tell any ghost stories yesterday," said Melissa. "I told 'em about robbers and kidnappers."
"Get the ladder, Watson," said Diggs. "What are you standing there for? Do you think it's a pedestal you're on?"
"I just wanted to say that three of the kids saw sea-serpents and crocodiles in their dreams—"
"Don't lay it to me, Watson," broke in Melissa. "I'm not to blame if they had delirium tremens. I didn't give them anything to drink."
"I—I shall have to speak to Mrs. Bingle about you, Melissa," exclaimed Diggs severely.
"Do! She is always complimented when you condescend to speak to her, Mr. Diggs."
"Don't scrap," put in the gardener mildly. "Remember it's Christmas Eve."
"Oy-yoy!" groaned Watson. "We've all got to listen to Mr. Bingle read Dickens again. It will be the sixth time I've 'eard The Christmas Carol in this 'ere room." He departed in quest of the tall step-ladder, banging Hughes on the shins with the small one as he swung past.
Hughes said something under his breath and then, with a quick glance at Melissa, went on: "I will say this for the old boy, he makes Christmas a merry one for all of us."