“And why not?” she answered quickly; “only will it so, and so it shall be. We are our own creators.”
“What a rash saying!” he exclaimed, with a smile; “but I know what you mean. God gives us the tools and the marble; it is ours to carve it into an angel or a fiend.”
At last the chapel decoration was over, and a few of the more venturesome among us went out in the snow for a walk.
Meanwhile, in the corridor (so we called our favorite sitting-room), the Yule-logs were crackling cheerfully on the wide hearth, and the fitful tongues of flame shot a red glimmer over the old-fashioned furniture. One of the chairs was said to have belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, and there was another, a circular arm-chair, that looked as if it also should have had a history connected with the great and learned. Full-length portraits of the old possessors of Aldred covered the walls, and on the stained-glass upper compartments of the deep bay-window at one end were depicted the arms and quarterings of the family. The Yule-logs were oak, cut from our own trees, and perforated all over with large holes through which the flames shot up like fire-sprites.
The Christmas-tree and magic-lantern also had to be put in order to save time and trouble, and a stage for tableaux occupied the rapt attention of the amateur mechanician (our great-aunt's son) and of “Jim,” the traveller and practised factotum. Miss Houghton was never very far from the scene of these proceedings, and, when she was not quite so near, “Cousin Jim” was not quite so eager. Almost all our guests had brought contributions for the Christmas-tree, of which our children had the nominal charge, and with these gifts and our own it turned out quite a royal success. Presents of useful garments, flannels, boots, mittens, woollen shirts, petticoats, and comforters, were stowed away beneath the lower branches, while all visible parts were hung with the toys and fruits, lights and ribbons, that so delight children. Gilt walnut-shells were a prominent [pg 451] decoration, and right at the apex of the tree was fixed a “Christ-child,” that thoroughly German development, an image of the Infant Saviour, holding a starred globe in one hand and a standard in the other. A crèche had also been prepared in the Lady-chapel, a lifelike representation of those beautiful Christmas pictures seen to such perfection in the large churches of Italy. Munich figures supplied the place of wax models, however, and were a decided improvement.
Many people from the village had asked leave to come in and look at these peculiar decorations; but, as few of them were Catholics, it had been thought better to wait till the third Mass on Christmas day to open the chapel to the public. Christmas eve was a very busy day, and towards five o'clock began the great task of welcoming the rest of the expected guests. This was done in no modern and languid fashion; the servants, clad in fur caps and frieze greatcoats, stood near the door with resinous torches flaring in the still night air—it was quite dark at that early hour—and the host and hostess welcomed them at the very threshold. The children helped them to take off their wraps, and held mistletoe sprigs over their bended heads as they reached up to kiss them. Indeed, mistletoe was so plentifully strewn about the house that it was impossible to avoid it, but we had so far eschewed the freedom of the past as to consider this custom more honored in the breach than in the observance. The children and the servants, however, made up for our carelessness.
Very little toilet was expected for a seven o'clock dinner (we were not fashionable people), but we found that our well-meant injunctions had hardly been obeyed. For the sake of the picturesque, so much the better, I thought. One of our friends had actually donned a claret-colored velvet suit, with slippers to match, embroidered with gold; and, when we looked at each other in silent amusement, the wearer himself smiled round the circle, saying pleasantly:
“Oh! I do not mind being noticed. In fact, I rather like it—this was a lady's fancy, you see.”
“How, how?” we asked eagerly.
“Well,” answered the Londoner, a regular drawing-room pet, and a very clever society jester, “I was challenged to a game of billiards by a fair lady, the Duchess of ——. She said to me, ‘And pray do wear something picturesque.’ I bowed and said, ‘Your grace shall be obeyed.’ I happened to have some loose cash about me. I could not wear uniform, because I did not belong even to the most insignificant of volunteer regiments, and I went to my tailor. His genius was equal to the occasion, and this was the result. I played with the duchess, and she won,”—the hero of the velvet coat was an invincible billiard champion.—“As I have the dress by me, I take the liberty of wearing it occasionally in the country. It is too good to be hidden, isn't it?”