"Mother, we'll have a regular jolly evening, as Mark is come. He shall not say a word about his old books; we're going to have a holiday. Where's Alice? Alice give us your best riddle-cakes, and Mat shall bring out some of his whitest honey. Let us have some broiled ham, too; and then we'll crack * to heart's content."
* "Crack" signifies chat in Westmoreland parlance, as well as in Scotland.
This was spoken with an uneasy effort to be cheerful, which did not deceive any one of the party. But they were rejoiced to have the truant son of the ancient house, the representative of an honored father—glad to have him safely amongst them, on any terms. And so a grand fire was built up on the hearth on scientific principles, by Alice's skilled hands, peat laid against peat, and log resting on log, until the crackling and sputtering were prodigious. The whole long, low room was brilliantly illuminated; the jets of reflected flame danced upon the shining old oak; a great toasting and buttering of cakes began; the frying-pan added its characteristic hearth-song to the general chorus of household music, which was in truth more cheering than melodious; a coarse table-cloth of snow-like whiteness was spread; horn-handled knives and forks were arranged like rays about the round-table; and a great homemade cheese took its respectable stand in the centre.
The mother's calm eyes watched Alice's movements with loving approval; other eyes followed her, too, but she took little heed, until Miles broke out with the words—sincere, genuine words this time—
"Well, it is a pleasure to have such a warm home, and a nice handy little sister to make one comfortable on a cold winter evening."
She looked full at her brother with a sparkling smile; but her eyes presently brimmed over at the recollection of how rarely of late that brother had chosen to be "made comfortable" beside his own warm hearth-stone. He saw what was in her mind; for Alice's was a face as truthful in reflecting all her meanings, as the little tarns and broader lakes which enamel her mountain land, to mirror the blue skies or the solemn stars of heaven, and to give back the bending of a reed or the waving of a fern:
"Heaven's height and home's deep valley,
Much of earth, but more of heaven."
Miles read the thoughts which were reflected on his sister's simple, open countenance; his own flushed at the silent expostulation; and turning hastily to the schoolmaster, he led him off into talk about the months which had passed since the last round of scholastic visits. "How are the folk up at Scarf Beck?"
"Oh, they are very well; the sons are fine likely lads, and Bella is a clever winsome girl. They have got a deal of learning, out of my mouth amongst them. Fine scholars they will be, the best in the round, except you, Miles, and little Mat here. At least, you have been my prime scholar, and Mat promises fair. I wish you would keep it up. It is a fine thing to have a good home-pursuit, something to keep the hearth bright besides the peat and the logs."
"There are no books to be had," said Miles evasively; "one can't read the spelling book over and over again. It's weary work, that."