It was a very fine night. The snow was well-trodden on the drive, so that it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hung soft and white.
"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime," said Robin.
"Much," responded Nicholas, with intense feeling.
"We'll go a wassailing next week," said Robin. "I know all about it, and perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tin swords with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh, dear, I wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another."
"Where shall we go first?" asked Nicholas, as they turned into the high road.
"This is the first house," he said. "We'll act here;" and all pressed in as quickly as possible. Once safe within the grounds, they shouldered their sticks, and marched with composure.
"You're going to the front door," said Nicholas. "Mummers ought to go to the back."
"We don't know where it is," said Robin, and he rang the front-door bell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and at last a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It might have been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly, timid-looking woman, who held a tallow candle above her head.
"Who's there?" she said, "at this time of night."
"We're Christmas mummers," said Robin, stoutly; "we didn't know the way to the back door, but——"