was twined, that it was almost overpowering.  Yes!  It was too sweet—­too strong.  She certainly would not be able to bear it much longer without losing her senses.  And the service was going on.  A question had been asked of her, and she must reply.  She made a strong effort, and said “Yes,” simply and very earnestly, for it was what she meant.  But she had no sooner said it than she became uneasily conscious that she had not used the right words.  Some one laughed.  It was the tutor, and his voice jarred and disturbed the dream, as a stone troubles the surface of still water.  The vision trembled, and then broke, and the young lady found herself still sitting by the table and fingering the cracker paper, whilst the tutor chuckled and rubbed his hands by the fire, and his shadow scrambled on the wall like an ape upon a tree.  But her “Yes” had passed into the young man’s dream without disturbing it, and he dreamt on.

It was a cracker like the preceding one that the grandmother and the parson pulled together.  The old lady had insisted upon it.  The good rector had shown a tendency to low spirits this evening, and a wish to withdraw early.  But the old lady did not approve of people “shirking” (as boys say) either their duties or their pleasures; and to keep a “merry Christmas” in a family circle that had been spared to meet in health and happiness, seemed to her to be both the one and the other.

It was his sermon for next day which weighed on the parson’s mind.  Not that he was behindhand with that part of his duties.  He was far too methodical in his habits for that, and it had been written before the bustle of Christmas week began.  But after preaching Christmas sermons from the same pulpit for thirty-five years, he felt keenly how difficult it is to awaken due interest in subjects that are so familiar, and to give new force to lessons so often repeated.  So he wanted a quiet hour in his own study before he went to rest, with the sermon that did not satisfy him, and the subject that should be so heart-stirring and ever-new,—­the Story of Bethlehem.

He consented, however, to pull one cracker with the grandmother, though he feared the noise might startle her nerves, and said so.

“Nerves were not invented in my young days,” said the old lady, firmly; and she took her part in the ensuing explosion without so much as a wink.

As the cracker snapped, it seemed to the parson as if the fragrant smoke from the yule log were growing denser in the room.  Through the mist from time to time the face of the tutor loomed large, and then disappeared.  At last the clouds rolled away, and the parson breathed clear air.  Clear, yes, and how clear!  This brilliant freshness, these intense lights and shadows, this mildness and purity in the night air—­

“It is not England,” he muttered, “it is the East.  I have felt no air like this since I breathed the air of Palestine.”