“As for my lady, she was all stateliness,—very beautiful too, or had been; and the sound of her dress was like the wings of a wild bird.”
“I think I shall like to hear this story,” said Carl, settling himself on his box and patting his hands together once or twice.
“I dare say you will,” said the stocking,—“when I tell it to you. However—— Well——”
“A great many years ago it was Christmas-eve at Squire Darlington’s, and the squire sat alone in his wide hall. Every window was festooned with ivy leaves and holly, which twisted about the old carving and drooped and hung round the silver sconces, and thence downward towards the floor. The silver hands of the sconces held tall wax candles, but they were not lit. The picture frames wore wreaths, from which the old portraits looked out gloomily enough,—not finding the adornment so becoming as they had done a century or so before; and even the Squire’s high-backed chair was crowned with a bunch of holly berries. There was no danger of their being in his way, for he rarely leaned back in his chair, but sat up quite straight, with one hand on his knee and the other on the arm of the chair. On that particular evening his hand rested on me; for I and my companion stocking had been put on for the first time.”
“I don’t see how he could get his hand on his stocking,” said Carl, “if he sat up. Look—I couldn’t begin to touch mine.”
“You needn’t try to tell me anything about stockings,” replied that article of dress somewhat contemptuously. “I know their limits as well as most people. But in those days, Master Carl, gentlemen wore what they called small-clothes—very different from your new-fangled pantaloons.”
“I don’t wear pantaloons,” said Carl,—“I wear trousers.” But the stocking did not heed the interruption.
“The small-clothes reached only to the knee—a little above or a little below—and so met the long stockings half way. Some people wore very fanciful stockings, of different colours and embroidered; but Squire Darlington’s were always of grey woollen yarn, very fine and soft as you see I am, and tied above the knee with black ribbons. And his shoes were always black, with; large black bows and silver buckles.
“He sat there alone in the wide hall, with one hand upon me and his eyes fixed upon the fire waiting for the arrival of the Yule Clog. For in those days, the night before Yule or Christmas the chief fire in the house was built with an immense log, which was cut and brought in with great rejoicing and ceremony, and lighted with a brand saved from the log of last year. All the servants in the house had gone out to help roll the log and swell the noise, and the fire of the day had burnt down to a mere bed of coals; and the hall was so still you could almost hear the ivy leaves rustle on the old wall outside. I don’t know but the Squire did.”
“What did he stay there for?” said Carl. “Was he thinking?”