"In what way is he related to the Allens of Aberystwith, Jessy?" questioned Miss Page, drawing her sister away, as we went through the coppice.
"I don't quite know, Abigail. He is some distant cousin."
"Very careless of you, child. Especially if he gave you cause to suppose he might come here. I don't like to be taken by surprise by strangers; it is not always convenient."
Jessy walked along in silence, meek as a lamb.
"What is he?--in any profession, or trade?"
"Trade? Oh, I don't think he does anything of that kind, Abigail. That branch of the family would be above it, Mrs. Allen said. He has a large income, she says; plenty of money."
"I take it, then, that he is above _us_," reasoned Miss Page.
"Oh dear, yes: in station. Ever so much."
"Then I'm sure I don't care to entertain him."
Miss Page went straight into the best kitchen on arriving at home. Her father sat in the large hearth corner, smoking his pipe. She told him about the stranger, and said she supposed they must ask him to stay over the morrow--Christmas-Day.
"Well, father, he seems very grand and great."
"And our ways are plain and simple, you know," she added.
"He must take us as he finds us, Abigail. Any friend of Mrs. Allen's is welcome: she was downright kind to the children."
We had a jolly tea. Tod and I had been asked to it beforehand. Pork-pies, Miss Susan's making, hot buttered batch-cakes, and lemon cake and jams. Mr. Marcus Allen was charmed with everything: he was a pleasant man to talk to. When we left, he and Mr. Page had gone to the best kitchen again, to smoke together in the wide chimney corner.
You Londoners, who go in for your artistic scrolls and crosses, should have seen the church on Christmas morning. It greeted our sight, as we entered from the porch, like a capacious grove of green, on which the sun streamed through the south windows. Old Bumford's dressing had never been as full and handsome as this of ours, for we had rejected all niggardly sprays. The Squire even allowed that much. Shaking hands with Miss Page in the porch after service, he told her that it cut Clerk Bumford out and out. Mr. Marcus Allen, in fashionable coat, with the furred over-coat flung back, light gloves, and big white wristbands, was in the Pages' pew, sitting between old Page and Jessy. He found all the places for her in her Prayer-book (a shabby red one, some of the leaves loose); bowing slightly every time he handed her the book, as if she had been a princess of the blood royal. Such gallantry was new in our parts: and the congregation were rather taken off their devotions watching it. As to Jessy, she kept flushing like a rose.