“Really, there would have been nobody here who could have stood as decent second to him, or even third, if I hadn’t been a soldier in the Bang-up Locals (as we was called for our smartness),” said Grandfer Cantle.  “And even as ’tis we all look a little scammish beside him.  But in the year four ’twas said there wasn’t a finer figure in the whole South Wessex than I, as I looked when dashing past the shop-winders with the rest of our company on the day we ran out o’ Budmouth because it was thoughted that Boney had landed round the point.  There was I, straight as a young poplar, wi’ my firelock, and my bag-net, and my spatter-dashes, and my stock sawing my jaws off, and my accoutrements sheening like the seven stars!  Yes, neighbours, I was a pretty sight in my soldiering days.  You ought to have seen me in four!”

“’Tis his mother’s side where Master Clym’s figure comes from, bless ye,” said Timothy.  “I know’d her brothers well.  Longer coffins were never made in the whole country of South Wessex, and ’tis said that poor George’s knees were crumpled up a little e’en as ’twas.”

“Coffins, where?” inquired Christian, drawing nearer.  “Have the ghost of one appeared to anybody, Master Fairway?”

“No, no.  Don’t let your mind so mislead your ears, Christian; and be a man,” said Timothy reproachfully.

“I will.” said Christian.  “But now I think o’t my shadder last night seemed just the shape of a coffin.  What is it a sign of when your shade’s like a coffin, neighbours?  It can’t be nothing to be afeared of, I suppose?”

“Afeared, no!” said the Grandfer.  “Faith, I was never afeard of nothing except Boney, or I shouldn’t ha’ been the soldier I was.  Yes, ’tis a thousand pities you didn’t see me in four!”

By this time the mummers were preparing to leave; but Mrs. Yeobright stopped them by asking them to sit down and have a little supper.  To this invitation Father Christmas, in the name of them all, readily agreed.

Eustacia was happy in the opportunity of staying a little longer.  The cold and frosty night without was doubly frigid to her.  But the lingering was not without its difficulties.  Mrs. Yeobright, for want of room in the larger apartment, placed a bench for the mummers half-way through the pantry door, which opened from the sitting-room.  Here they seated themselves in a row, the door being left open:  thus they were still virtually in the same apartment.  Mrs. Yeobright now murmured a few words to her son, who crossed the room to the pantry-door, striking his head against the mistletoe as he passed, and brought the mummers beef and bread, cake pastry, mead, and elder-wine, the waiting being done by him and his mother, that the little maid-servant might sit as guest.  The mummers doffed their helmets, and began to eat and drink.

“But you will surely have some?” said Clym to the Turkish Knight, as he stood before that warrior, tray in hand.  She had refused, and still sat covered, only the sparkle of her eyes being visible between the ribbons which covered her face.