But the dinner passed off very pleasantly, more so than family festivals usually pass.  After it the lovers went into private session to consider whether they should declare their new relationship during the evening, or wait until Julius could have a private audience with the squire.  Sophia was inclined to the first course, because of the presence of the rector.  She felt that his blessing on her betrothal would add a religious grace to the event, but Julius was averse to speak on any matter so private to himself before Harry Sandal.  He felt that he could neither endure his congratulations nor his dissent; that, in fact, he did not want his opinion on the matter at all.  Besides, he had determined to have but one discussion of the affair, and that must include all pertaining to Sophia’s rights and her personal fortune.

While they were deciding this momentous question, the rector and Charlotte were singing over the carols for the Christmas service; the squire was smoking and listening; and Harry was talking in a low voice to his mother.  But after the rector had gone, it became very difficult to avoid a feeling of ennui and restraint, although it was Christmas Eve.  Mrs. Sandal soon went into the housekeeper’s room to assist in the preparation of the Yule hampers for the families of the men who worked on the estate.  Sandal fell into a musing fit, and soon appeared to be dozing; although Charlotte saw that he occasionally opened his eyes, and looked at the whispering lovers, or else shot her a glance full of sympathetic intelligence.

Music has many according charms, and Charlotte tried it, but with small success.  Julius and Sophia had a song in their own hearts, and this night they knew no other.  Harry loved his sister very dearly, but he was not inclined to “carolling;” and the repression and constraint were soon evident through all the conventional efforts to be “merry.”  It was the squire who finally hit upon the circumstance which tided over the evening, and sent every one to bed in a ripple of laughter.  For, when the piano was closed, he opened his eyes, and said, “Sophia, your mother tells me she has had a very nice Christmas present from the little maid you took such a liking to,—­little Agnes Bulteel.  It is a carriage hap made of sheepskins white as the snow, and from some new breed of sheep surely; for the wool is longer and silkier than ever I saw.”

“Agnes Bulteel!” cried Charlotte.  “O Sophia! where are her last letters?  I am sure father would like to hear about Joe and the jolly-jist.”

“Joe Bulteel is no fool,” said the squire warmly.  “It is the way around here to laugh a bit at Joe; but Joe aims to do right, and he is a very spirity lad.  What are you and Sophia laughing at?  Eh?  What?”

“Get the letters, Sophia.  Julius and Harry will enjoy them I know.  Harry must remember Joe Bulteel.”

“Certainly.  Joe has carried my line and creel many a day.  Trout couldn’t fool Joe.  He was the one to find plovers’ eggs, and to spot a blaeberry patch.  Joe has some senses ordinary people do not have, I think.  I should like to hear about Joe and the what?”