226 By Stream and Sea. 



expectations, the end of all appeared to be Christmas Eve 

 in a punt ! 



Night came on apace, and something more, and the 

 battle of snowflakes raged incessantly, the only difference 

 being that whereas at first the combatants were small and 

 hard — the militia, let us say, of the corps cFarmk — they were 

 now the guardsmen of the force — large white blossoms of 

 snow that smote you with a decisive pat, and stuck with 

 more tenacity than was at all pleasant to the exposed por- 

 tions of the face. 



"Thank goodness that farmer's child had a trick of 

 making dolls' beds and dresses of our rugs," said Harvey. 

 " You see, things are not so bad " (he had to shout this 

 as through a speaking trumpet) "as they might be. But 

 for the little girl's propensities for meddling with our pro- 

 perty the rugs would have gone on with the cart, and we 

 should perish with the cold. Come aft, Thornbury, and 

 cheer up. Let's huddle together under the rugs, and defy 

 fate." 



They made the very best of their position ; but to his 

 latest day Thornbury says he shall not forget the horrors of 

 that Christmas Eve. Harvey could not conceal from him 

 that he was ill at ease. He laughed, or made believe to 

 laugh, and drank healths out of the flask, but he was all the 

 time thinking of that scene at the Manor House — the ruddy 

 glow of the fire, the subdued light of the old-fashioned 

 lamps, the holly and mistletoe, the anxious gudewife, 

 wretched and hoping against hope, the children frightened, 

 and dinner spoiling. Ah me ! and all this through' a 

 moment's clumsiness, to which Harvey Kype made not the 

 ghost of a reference. Thornbury would have been grateful 

 had he clubbed him with his breechloader. 



He may not have intended to punish "the author of the 



