"I can't go to church, Sam. I must stay and help Cook."
"No; be-jowned if 'ee do. Old Feyther be man enough to help Cook, wi' sech a little small pudden and all. If we'd only knowed ye were comin' we'd ha' made it bigger, cost what it might. But you shall have my share, Maidy, so don't be cast down in yer soul."
"Bless the boy! Do 'ee think I can't live wi'out pudden?"
"Well, then, if that be yer mind, I'll eat the pudden, and you hev two servings o' pig—but not too much apple sauce, Maidy."
"Good now! You do talk and talk, and there's the boots to clean and the cloth to lay. We'll never be done. Be off with 'ee."
The voices ceased.
"A very nice girl," repeated Mrs. Trevanion with a sigh. "I wish we could keep her. She would have a good influence on Sam, who is inclined to be idle."
Dick smiled.
"When my ship comes home, my dear," said the Squire. "Upon my word, 'tis cheering to hear a song in the morning, and the sun shining, too. I think the fire yesterday has burnt some of my melancholy away."
After breakfast they walked over to the church. The people assembled in the churchyard bobbed and curtsied as the party from the Towers passed up the path, and wished them a merry Christmas, a sign of renewed friendliness which made the Squire glow with pleasure. There was a large congregation, and everybody expected that the Vicar would preach a sermon bearing on the events of the previous day. He had indeed looked out two old discourses, one on the text, "The wages of sin is death," the other on "The ways of transgressors are hard"; but he replaced them in his drawer, and selected a third, on the verse, "Peace on earth, goodwill towards men."