ANTHONY TROLLOPE: Christmas At Thompson Hall & Other Holiday Sagas. Anthony Trollope

that there has been something doing in Paris between these young people that we haven’t heard as yet,” said the uncle. Then Mrs. Brown laughed, and Jane, laughing too, gave Mr. Jones to understand that she at any rate knew all about it.

      “If there is a mystery I hope it will be told at once,” said the member of Parliament, angrily.

      “Come, Brown, what is it? “ asked another male cousin.

      “Well, there was an accident. I’d rather Jones should tell,” said he.

      Jones’ brow became blacker than thunder, but he did not say a word. “ You mustn’t be angry with Mary,” Jane whispered into her lover’s ear.

      “Come, Mary, you never were slow at talking,” said the uncle.

      “I do hate this kind of thing,” said the member of Parliament.

      “I will tell it all,” said Mrs. Brown, very nearly in tears, or else pretending to be very nearly in tears. “ I know I was very wrong, and I do beg his pardon, and if he won’t say that he forgives me I never shall be happy again.” Then she clasped her hands, and turning round, looked him piteously in the face.

      “Oh yes; I do forgive you,” said Mr. Jones.

      “My brother,” said 4e, throwing her arms round him and kissing him. He recoiled from the embrace, but I think that he attempted to return the kiss. “ And now I will tell the whole story,” said Mrs. Brown. And she told it, acknowledging her fault with true contrition, and swearing that she would atone for it by lifelong sisterly devotion.

      “And you mustard-plastered the wrong man!” said the old gentleman, almost rolling off his chair with delight.

      “I did,” said Mrs. Brown, sobbing, “ and I think that no woman ever suffered as I suffered.”

      “And Jones wouldn’t let you leave the hotel?”

      “It was the handkerchief stopped us,” said Brown.

      “If it had turned out to be anybody else,” said the member of Parliament, “ the results might have been most serious,—not to say discreditable.”

      “That’s nonsense, Robert,” said Mrs. Brown, who was disposed to resent the use of so severe a word, even from the legislator cousin.

      “In a strange gentleman’s bedroom! “ he continued. “ It only shows that what I have always said is quite true. You should never go to bed in a strange house without locking your door.”

      Nevertheless it was a very jovial meeting, and before the evening was over Mr. Jones was happy, and had been brought to acknowledge that the mustard-plaster would probably not do him any permanent injury.

      Christmas Day at Kirkby Cottage

      (Anthony Trollope)

       Table of Contents

       Chapter I. What Maurice Archer Said About Christmas

       Chapter II. Kirkby Cliffe Church

       Chapter III. Showing How Isabel Lownd Told a Lie

       Chapter IV. Showing How Isabel Lownd Repented Her Fault

      Chapter I.

       What Maurice Archer Said About Christmas

       Table of Contents

      “After all, Christmas is a bore!”

      “Even though you should think so, Mr. Archer, pray do not say so here.”

      “But it is.”

      “I am very sorry that you should feel like that; but pray do not say anything so very horrible.”

      “Why not? and why is it horrible? You know very well what I mean.”

      “I do not want to know what you mean; and it would make papa very unhappy if he were to hear you.”

      “A great deal of beef is roasted, and a great deal of pudding is boiled, and then people try to be jolly by eating more than usual. The consequence is, they get very sleepy, and want to go to bed an hour before the proper time. That’s Christmas.”

      He who made this speech was a young man about twenty-three years old, and the other personage in the dialogue was a young lady, who might be, perhaps, three years his junior. The “papa” to whom the lady had alluded was the Rev. John Lownd, parson of Kirkby Cliffe, in Craven, and the scene was the parsonage library, as pleasant a little room as you would wish to see, in which the young man who thought Christmas to be a bore was at present sitting over the fire, in the parson’s armchair, with a novel in his hand, which he had been reading till he was interrupted by the parson’s daughter. It was nearly time for him to dress for dinner, and the young lady was already dressed. She had entered the room on the pretext of looking for some book or paper, but perhaps her main object may have been to ask for some assistance from Maurice Archer in the work of decorating the parish church. The necessary ivy and holly branches had been collected, and the work was to be performed on the morrow. The day following would be Christmas Day. It must be acknowledged, that Mr. Archer had not accepted the proposition made to him very graciously.

      Maurice Archer was a young man as to whose future career in life many of his elder friends shook their heads and expressed much fear. It was not that his conduct was dangerously bad, or that he spent his money too fast, but that he was abominably conceited, so said these elder friends; and then there was the unfortunate fact of his being altogether beyond control. He had neither father, nor mother, nor uncle, nor guardian. He was the owner of a small property not far from Kirkby Cliffe, which gave him an income of some six or seven hundred a year, and he had altogether declined any of the professions which had been suggested to him. He had, in the course of the year now coming to a close, taken his degree at Oxford, with some academical honours, which were not high enough to confer distinction, and had already positively refused to be ordained, although, would he do so, a small living would be at his disposal on the death of a septuagenarian cousin. He intended, he said, to farm a portion of his own land, and had already begun to make amicable arrangements for buying up the interest of one of his two tenants. The rector of Kirkby Cliffe, the Rev. John Lownd, had been among his father’s dearest friends, and he was now the parson’s guest for the Christmas.

      There had been many doubts in the parsonage before the young man had been invited. Mrs. Lownd had considered that the visit would be dangerous. Their family consisted of two daughters, the youngest of whom was still a child; but Isabel was turned twenty, and if a young man were brought into the house, would it not follow, as a matter of course, that she should fall in love with him? That was the mother’s first argument.”Young people don’t always fall in love,” said the father. “But people will say that he is brought here on purpose,” said the mother, using her second argument. The parson, who in family matters generally had his own way, expressed an opinion that if they were to be governed by what other people might choose to say, their course of action would be very limited indeed. As for his girl, he did not think she would ever give her heart to any man before it had been asked; and as for the young man,—whose father had been for over thirty years his dearest friend,—if he chose to fall in love, he must run his chance, like other young men. Mr. Lownd declared he knew nothing against him, except that he was, perhaps, a little self-willed; and so Maurice Archer came to Kirkby Cliffe, intending to spend two months in the same house with Isabel Lownd.

      Hitherto, as far as the parents or the neighbours saw,—and in their endeavours to see, the