"I am sick of this," he thought, as he returned to his own room. "'Tis well Doubledick is going, or, by George, there would be murder."
Next morning Sam Pollex, going down to the village to buy some raisins for a plum-pudding, overtook Susan Berry, John Trevanion's housemaid. "Aw, Ma'am, ye do look wisht, sure enough," said Sam, remarking the gloomy aspect of Maidy Susan's usually merry face.
"And so I be, Sam," she replied, "I wish I were to-home, I do."
"Now that be cruel to we, daze me if it bean't. Why do 'ee wish sech a cruel thing, Ma'am?"
"Why, to-morrer be Christmas Eve, and there'll be no ashton fagot, and no egg-hot, like us have to-home."
"What be they, Maidy?"
"Don't 'ee know that? Why, the fagot be made of ash-sticks tied about wi' nine twigs, and on Christmas Eve 'tis dragged to the Squire's hearth and set ablaze; and then we do dance and jump for cakes, and dive for apples in a tub o' water. Oh, 'tis sech fun, you can't think! And then we drink egg-hot——"
"What's that, if it be so pleasin'?"
"Why, silly chiel, 'tis cider and eggs and spice, made as hot as 'ee can drink it."
"Aw, I know what that is. Mess is what we do name it, and as for fagot, we do call that mock, only it bean't sticks, but a mighty block o' wood. Squire don't hev it now, since he hev been so poor. But why don't 'ee axe yer maister if ye can do as ye do to-home?"