Last Christmas the girls had relied entirely upon his help.  He had found the twine, and driven the nails, and steadied the ladder when Sophia’s light form mounted it in order to hang the mistletoe.  They had been so happy.  The echo of their voices, their snatches of Christmas carols, their laughter and merry badinage, was still in his heart.  He remembered the impromptu lunch, which they had enjoyed so much while at work.  He could see the mother come smiling in, with constant samples of the Christmas cheer fresh out of the oven.  He had printed the verses and mottoes himself, spent all the afternoon over them, and been rather proud of his efforts.  Charlotte had said, “they were really beautiful;” even Sophia had admitted that “they looked well among the greens.”  But to-day he had not been asked to assist in the decorations.  True, he had said, in effect, that he did not wish to assist; but, all the same, he felt shut out from his old pre-eminence; and he could not help regarding Julius Sandal as a usurper.

These were drearisome Christmas thoughts and feelings; and they found their climax in a pathetic complaint, “I never thought Charlotte would have given me the go-by.  All along she has taken my side, no matter what came up.  Oh, my little lass!”

As if in answer to the heart-cry, Charlotte opened the door.  She was dressed in furs and tweeds, and she had the squire’s big coat and woollen wraps in her hand.  Before he could speak, she had reached his chair, and put her arm across his shoulder, and said in her bright, confidential way, “Come, father, let you and me have a bit of pleasure by ourselves:  there isn’t much comfort in the house to-day.”

“You say right, Charlotte; you do so, my dear.  Where shall we go?  Eh?  Where?”

“Wherever you like best.  There is no snow to hamper us yet.  Some of the servants are down from Up-Hill.  Ducie has sent mother a great spice-loaf and a fine Christmas cheese.”

“Ducie is a kind woman.  I have known Ducie ever since I knew myself.  Could we climb the fell-breast, Charlotte?  Eh?  What?”

“I think we could.  Ducie will miss it, if you don’t go and wish her ’a merry Christmas.’  You never missed grandfather Latrigg.  Old friends are best, father.”

“They are that.  Is Steve at home?”

“He isn’t coming home this Christmas.  I wasn’t planning about Steve, father.  Don’t think such a thing as that of me.”

“I don’t, Charlotte.  I don’t think of Charlotte Sandal and of any thing underhand at the same time.  I’m a bit troubled and out of sorts this morning, my dear.”

She kissed him affectionately for answer.  She not only divined what a trial Julius had become, but she knew also that his heart was troubled in far greater depths than Julius had any power to stir.  Harry Sandal was really at the root of every bitter moment.  For Harry had not taken the five hundred pounds with the creditable contrite humiliation of the repenting prodigal.  It was even yet doubtful whether he would respond to his parents’ urgent request to spend Christmas at Seat-Sandal.  And when there is one rankling wrong, which we do not like to speak of, it is so natural to relieve the heart by talking a great deal about those wrongs which we are less inclined to disguise and deny.