DECEMBER IN BROADLAXD. 143 



Just now Duke shows signs of uneasiness and his master takes the hint. But 

 before he leaves us he hurriedly remarks that he really intends to drop the ' bis- 

 ness 'bor,' he adds, ' that 'ere little 'un as wor buried 'tother day begged on me 

 tu du diffrent, and s'help me, sum day I mane tu ; but it's hard tu give up the old 

 ways. P'raps in the new yeer I'll turn over a new leaf, but I must ha' my Christ- 

 mas dinner fust. Good-night, sir.' 



The fellow as suddenly vanishes as he appeared. We continue our musings 

 on the Bridge alone. The keeper, for he it is whose oncoming has put the poacher 

 to flight, accosts us, and makes comment on the beauty of the night. Feelings 

 of delicacy on his part forbid him interrogating us as to whether we'd heard or 

 seen anything in his way. 



Ding-dong ding again peal forth the village bells, their clear mellow tones 

 ringing out through the bright quiet night. There is something weird and beauti- 

 ful in their clanging, yet so strange withal. Now for a while they cease, and the 

 music of sweet childish voices is borne along upon the breath of the gentle wind, 

 a welcome as appropriate as it is touching, of the 



* Day that we love best in the days of the year,' 



bringing to mind the beautiful and never-tiresome story of the nativity of Him 

 whose praises the angels sang at Bethlehem. And His presence seems so real and 

 near to us that unconsciously we take off our hat and the place whereon we stand 

 seems hallowed ground. 



Reader, it is time for us to take leave of each other : can we do better than 

 part at the manger where the Holy Child lay ? Our Broadland jaunts have come 

 to an end. 



